


i'm not sick of you yet (is that as good as it gets?)

by panderegla



Series: Stand By You [1]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Budding Love, Budding feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Introspection, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Spoilers for H'aanit's chapter 1 boss, Therion POV, Trust Issues, i wonder whose, may be ooc, none of them admit it or know it yet but yknow, platonic H'aanit & Therion, there's a minor spoiler in there for Alfyn's chapter 1 boss as well but it's a very brief mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panderegla/pseuds/panderegla
Summary: For better or for worse, Alfyn Greengrass was an open, naïve, stupidly honest book and Therion was stuck with him.The world is going to eat you alive, Therion thought once,and when it finally does, it’s going to have a grand time with it.Or, Therion has trouble letting his guard down around his new traveling companion yet can't help but look out for him when he least expects it, even if the stubborn oaf won't admit that he needs help.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion, H'aanit & Therion (Octopath Traveler)
Series: Stand By You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849405
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	i'm not sick of you yet (is that as good as it gets?)

**Author's Note:**

> i originally wanted to write a sick fic where therion takes care of a sick alfyn but then it gradually spiraled out of control and turned into this monster. i swear i didn't mean for it to be this angsty in the beginning, but i guess it just happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> disclaimer: i know the bare minimum of medieval medicine and medieval medicinal practices so what's depicted might not be historically accurate. that being said though, this is a fantasy video game with magic and fantasy flora and fauna so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also i am honestly not sure how graphic my descriptions of the fight scenes are to other people. i personally don't think they're graphic enough to warrant a warning but some people might think otherwise so i added the warning just in case.
> 
> ALSO this work is now part of a series of alfion fics that i'm slowly working on. i've tailored each story to be mostly standalone so you don't have to read any of the other parts to understand one but there will be connecting motifs and i appreciate if you do check out the other stories in the series!

It took Therion only three days and a half to get used to Alfyn.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he wanted him around. He tolerated the apothecary at best and had only agreed to travel with him because he hadn’t outlived his usefulness yet.

When Therion ‘got used’ to Alfyn, it only meant that he had picked up on his little habits and patterns.

Things like how Alfyn could only go to bed after he’s taken stock of his entire supply of herbs and concoctions and made sure they were all safe in his satchel, and how he’d take stock of them again over breakfast the next morning. “Just in case some trolls or fairies stole ‘em while I was asleep,” he’d say with a playful grin.

When they were on the road, he’d protect that satchel with his life. There was always a hand over it or on its strap, never letting go of it or putting it down unless necessary. Even then, it stayed close to Alfyn, always within arm’s reach.

Therion learned that Alfyn’s bedhead was natural and that the ponytail was his pathetic attempt to tame it and seem more ‘presentable.’ (“It’s been like this since I was a kid, shucks, leave it alone!”) Alfyn liked to run his hand through the top of his hair sometimes when he was idle which didn’t do the messy blond mop any favors. 

Therion learned that Alfyn was a bad liar. Even if he managed to tell the lie straight at first, there would always be a tell or two. Stare at him long enough and he’d crack a smile, or as the conversation went on there’d be an obvious nervous tremble in his voice. He would avert his eyes at exactly the wrong moments and soon enough his words would be tripping and falling over each other until he got flustered and admitted, “Okay okay, so I was lyin’, but who’s never lied before in their lives?”

Alfyn liked to make conversation, but anyone who had ever talked to him for just a few minutes could tell you that. Therion learned that this habit not only applied to random strangers on the street but applied to plants as well. Whenever he spotted a plant he’d never seen before, or even a plant that he was familiar with, Alfyn would stop suddenly, crouch down in front of it, then just start chatting away.

He was doing it now as they neared the border of the Cliftlands. He had spotted a short spiny aloe plant growing on the side of the road and walked right up to it, crouching down till he was eye level. This was by no means the first aloe they had encountered on their trek through the Cliftlands but Alfyn acted like he was seeing every plant for the first time. Another thing about him that Therion unfortunately had to learn on their travels together. He was convinced that the day just couldn’t end without Alfyn stopping to gawk and coo at some plant at least once.

“Well look at you!” Alfyn said as he turned this way and that to inspect the aloe from all sides. “Never seen anythin’ like you before! Well I mean, I’ve seen other aloe plants, but nothing quite like you! You must be real healthy, huh, with how plump ya look! Hey Therion, come look at this! You won’t mind if I prick you and take a bit of your water, will ya?”

The last question had been directed at the aloe but Therion, still warming to the fact that this was apparently a regular thing in the life of Alfyn Greengrass, answered like it had been directed at him.

“Make it quick,” he responded with a displeased sigh.

“Will do!” Alfyn said before he took out his whittling knife and started to saw into the aloe’s green flesh as gently as possible, making sure not to disturb any of the sharp spines that lined the edges of its leaves. Therion’s eye twitched in annoyance.

“Make it quicker,” he snapped.

“Okay okay, jeez,” Alfyn said with a laugh. He reached into his satchel and brought out a long glass tube, uncorking it and placing it under the cut he had made to capture the greenish liquid dripping down slowly from it.

A few seconds passed. Then a few more.

Therion was getting impatient.

“Is it full yet?” he asked.

Alfyn blinked up at him. “Shucks Therion, I’m sorry, but I gotta get as much of this as I can.”

Therion scoffed. “What’s there to get? It’s only water.”

Alfyn looked downright affronted. “I’ll have you know that aloe has many medicinal properties and has been consistently used for many home remedies for longer than you’ve ever been alive.”

The thief exhaled heavy through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t find a way to make that cactus juice drip any faster, I’m slicing that thing open myself.”

Alfyn balked at the suggestion, nearly dropping the glass tube in the process. “You can’t do that to the poor aloe! What’s it ever done to you? Also aloe isn’t a cactus, it’s a _succulent_. There’s a difference.”

 _I’m standing here in blistering heat waiting for some idiot to finish squeezing juice out of a goddamn succulent,_ thought Therion, but instead he said, “Ten more seconds then I’m walking away whether or not you’ve had your fill.”

“Shucks, all right then,” Alfyn relented, digging his knife out again to make a bigger cut on the aloe’s leaf. Just shy of that ten seconds, Alfyn corked the glass tube now full of greenish liquid and stood up with a sigh, tucking the glass tube safe inside his satchel.

He leaned down and said in a low voice to the aloe, “Sorry ‘bout the purple guy. He gets real moody ‘round this time of day.”

“What was that?” Therion said.

“Nothin’!” Alfyn said as he turned his back on the plant and strolled casually back to where Therion was standing. He grinned. “Well, should we get goin’?”

Therion glared at Alfyn before he turned back to the road ahead with a final “hmph” and continued their trek, Alfyn following close behind.

“Maaan, but it sure is hot today!” Alfyn said as he fanned himself with a hand. “Even more than usual. Have you noticed?”

“Hm,” was all Therion gave as an affirmative.

That was another thing about Alfyn that Therion had to learn to get used to. Alfyn only resorted to talking about the weather, among other things, as a prelude to a question.

He could feel the weight of Alfyn’s gaze on him and he knew that if he just turned his head like so, he’d see Alfyn just waiting for the right moment to say something.

A beat.

“So Therion,” he said.

_And there it was._

“Did ya grow up in Bolderfall?”

“No,” Therion replied.

“Oh. Were your parents born there?”

“No.” He wasn’t actually sure about that, given that he was orphaned as a baby (as far as he knew anyway) and never knew his parents, but wouldn’t Alfyn like to know that?

“Oh. So then, what brought you to Bolderfall?”

Therion gave no response. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfyn’s gaze was still fixed on him, waiting for an answer. When Therion refused to even look at him, the apothecary sighed in resignation and looked away, setting his eyes on the road ahead.

For a long time, nothing but the sound of their shoes on the dusty red gravel could be heard. The heat of the midday sun beat down relentless upon the tops of their heads, just enough to make Therion loosen his scarf somewhat. It was hot enough to make even him, who was much more accustomed to the scorching climate, sweat beneath the light fabric of his shawl, but Therion knew that the heat hadn’t reached its peak quite yet.

There was no shade to be found either. The only vegetation that grew around them were short stout cacti and succulents like the one Alfyn had gotten his water from and they never grew past their hips. There had been a scant few trees outside Bolderfall but they had been nothing more than collections of empty leafless branches. The only places that could provide effective shade were behind tall boulders or down below in the ravines and gorges but Therion wasn’t particularly eager to go down there just for a bit of shade. He figured that at the rate they were going, they’d reach the Woodlands before the end of the day anyway, so for now, all they could do was press on.

Alfyn meanwhile was handling the heat as best as he could – which is to say, as best as anyone who came from a place with a much more temperate climate could. He shed his brown leather gloves and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his bicep. Therion could see how his shirt and even his jacket were sticking to his skin with sweat. He caught himself staring at the muscle in Alfyn’s arms and quickly averted his eyes, scowling.

Before long, they reached a narrow road on top of a steep ravine. Below them, a thin river wound through the bottom of the ravine slow and lazy, a blue snake cutting through the harsh red earth. The ground before them was bare of anything but red clay and stone and up ahead, on the horizon where the beginnings of a mirage were forming, Therion could just make out where the ground sloped downwards and the Cliftlands disappeared into the forested outskirts of the Woodlands.

He heaved a sigh of relief, glad to be out of the heat soon, and quickened his steps. Alfyn jogged to keep up, staying on Therion’s right side not too far from the edge of the ravine.

Ah, there’s another one of his things.

Alfyn liked to walk between Therion and the edges of the cliffs, always pushing Therion towards the safer side. It was a pattern he was only now just seeing as he thought back to the times they had walked beside other cliffs and roads, noting how Alfyn always made sure to stay on the side nearest to the cliffs or nearest to where carriages and mounted horses would pass.

While Therion had no doubt that the apothecary meant it as a kind gesture, there was something about it that pissed him off. He almost wanted to push Alfyn over the edge of a cliff just for it. (But he could never do that. Brought back too many memories.)

Now that he thought about it, a lot of things about Alfyn Greengrass pissed Therion off.

Just like his list of all the dumb little things that Alfyn did, he had a list for all the things that irritated him about Alfyn.

It wasn’t just the dumb bedhead, or the bad lying, or the chattiness that extended towards inanimate objects. There was also his overtly friendly disposition, his dumb work ethic of not asking for any payment in return, how quickly and deeply he trusted people he just met, or how undiscerning he was when it came to his patients. He faced everything with a bright optimism that was strange to Therion and a smile that was even more odd and disarming.

But those weren’t the worst things.

Perhaps the worst thing about Alfyn Greengrass was that no matter how hard Therion tried to see past those easy smiles, how much he sifted through every word Alfyn said in search for a double meaning or an obvious lie, how he couldn’t stand to turn his back to the apothecary any time they were together or to fall asleep before he did; No matter how hard he tried to find any, Therion just couldn’t find any pretense in anything Alfyn Greengrass said or did. If there was any falsehood in his words, Therion couldn’t tell which one, and if he was only pretending to be so sweetly naïve, then he was doing a damn good job of it.

For better or for worse, Alfyn Greengrass was an open, naïve, stupidly honest book and Therion was stuck with him.

 _The world is going to eat you alive_ , Therion thought once, _and when it finally does, it’s going to have a grand time with it._

And yet, Therion kept his lists. He took note of every tiny habit Alfyn had and filed it away in his brain; little seemingly unimportant motions that could be used against him if the opportunity presented itself.

Therion kept his dagger close to him even while he slept and remained wary of the concoctions that Alfyn kept in his satchel. He searched for the telltale scent or taste of poison in his food, watched for the subtle movement of an unknown liquid in a tincture bottle being emptied into his drink. Most of all, he was wary of the times Alfyn drew too close to him, of the times he would reach out and sling an arm across his shoulders, while Therion had his own hand around the dagger at his side, ready to stab it into the other’s back without a moment’s hesitation if Alfyn so much as breathed on him wrong.

But always, Alfyn’s hands would come back empty. There would be no hidden shiv or weapon pressed up against Therion’s gut, only bright smiles and ringing laughter. Though they sounded innocent enough, something about Alfyn’s laughter always seemed to mock Therion, telling him, _soon. Soon. But not yet._

Soon that cheerful naïve visage would melt away and whatever ugly thoughts Alfyn had of Therion would be revealed. He hadn’t seen the fool’s bangle yet. Knew next to nothing about him save for his name, but even though Therion had been careful to reveal nothing that could be used against him to the apothecary, he knew it was only a matter of time before Alfyn turned on him.

At least this way, even if Alfyn got him in the end, at least Therion could fight back this time.

A screech from an eagle overhead interrupted Therion’s thoughts. A shadow passed over them, blocking out the sun for a brief moment before it flew over the ravine. Alfyn shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun and followed the winged shadow’s path across the sky.

After a beat, he said, “That eagle’s getting closer.”

Therion stopped and looked up at the approaching shadow.

“That’s not an eagle.”

Alfyn squinted at the shadow. “It isn’t?”

Therion sighed and drew his sword. “It’s a birdian out hunting.”

Alfyn glanced between Therion and the shadow before he gave a nervous chuckle. “Oh. Well it’ll leave us alone then, right?”

Therion scoffed. “It’s hunting _us_ , you idiot.”

Alfyn could only gape back at him before he said, “You’re not serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Therion hefted his sword with both hands. “Let’s just get this over with.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the birdian descended upon them with an ear-splitting screech, flapping its giant wings and creating a draft of wind strong enough to knock Alfyn off his feet and to the ground. Thankfully, Therion had anticipated the attack and dug his heels into the dirt, fighting against the invisible force that pushed against him and whistled loudly past his ears.

The birdian swooped down towards Alfyn, its sharp talons open and outstretched. But as soon as the birdian was upon him, Alfyn raised his axe and the birdian’s claws closed around its handle, its nails scratching against the metal with an unpleasant _screee!_

Lying on his back with nothing but his axe between them, Alfyn grappled with the birdian, gritting his teeth as he tried to maintain his grip on his axe. The birdian squawked in indignation and changed its course of action. It lifted the axe, with Alfyn still hanging on to it, and flapped its wings frantically, lifting itself and Alfyn with it a foot off the ground.

Before it could get itself airborne, Therion advanced towards it, sword pointed at the exposed section of its side. But the birdian deflected Therion’s blow with one from its own sword, sending Therion a foot away from it.

Like a bolt of lightning, Therion was upon the birdian again, exchanging blows with it and not relenting in his attacks until he had its full attention. Soon, the birdian’s grip on Alfyn’s axe slackened just enough to allow Alfyn to wrest it from its grip. He landed back on the ground and a second later, took a mighty swing at the birdian.

The birdian screeched as the axe dug into its flesh and sent it careening off to the side, flapping pathetically to lift itself up. Blood was now dripping fast from its stomach and its movements became slower, less alert.

Therion was on the birdian in an instant, parrying its sword attack and going straight for its heart. But with a single beat of its wings, the birdian sent Therion flying off of it and it rose into the air, shedding feathers as it went.

Its wings drew back and both Alfyn and Therion braced themselves before the birdian sent a gale of wind, stronger than the one before, straight at them. Therion was knocked off his feet this time, his sword ripped out of his hand, but Alfyn stood his ground, shielding his face with his axe.

The birdian fixed its beady eyes on the prone defenseless figure of Therion and swooped towards him, its beak open in a horrible screech, but it had barely reached him before Alfyn took off at a run and rammed into it just before it could reach Therion, knocking it off its trajectory and to the ground. Alfyn bore down on the birdian and struggled to pin its wings down as it writhed and screamed against his hold, dropping its sword to claw at Alfyn’s arms and hands.

“Therion!” Alfyn yelled over his shoulder, keeping the birdian pinned to the ground. “Finish ‘im!”

Therion didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped to his feet, his dagger already in his hand, ran towards the birdian and without hesitation slit its throat. The birdian made a sickening combination of a screech and a gurgle as blood spurted out of the wound, covering Alfyn and Therion both. Gradually, it stopped struggling, until its wings and its limbs hung limp, covered in its own blood.

Alfyn sighed heavily as he stood, shaking his hands free of the slick red blood that covered them. Therion wiped his dagger against the birdian’s feathers before sheathing it and turning to search for his abandoned sword.

“That one was stronger,” Alfyn remarked, staring down at the dead birdian with his hands on his hips. “Stronger than the ones we’ve fought before.”

Therion gave a grunt, for once agreeing with him. “The further away you get from Bolderfall or from any city, the bolder these things become.”

Therion picked his sword up from the ground and sheathed it. He looked over himself, noted nothing apart from a minor cut and a few bruises. He used his shawl to wipe the blood off his arms and face then walked over to where Alfyn was still standing over the birdian.

“You might want to clean yourself up,” he told him before crouching down to rifle through the small leather pouch hanging from the birdian’s waist. It contained nothing but a healing grape and a meager five leaves. Therion gave a “tch” in disappointment before pocketing the money and standing up.

As he was walking over to where Alfyn was cleaning himself up with a piece of scrap cloth, a sharp pain suddenly spiked up from his left foot, making him stumble and stagger down to one knee.

“Therion?” Alfyn was crouching in front of him in a second, hand reaching out to steady him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Therion gritted out and slapped Alfyn’s hand away. He stood up too quickly and was forced back down to his knee again.

“No, you’re not,” Alfyn said. He noticed the way Therion clutched at his left leg and laid a hand over it. “Let me see.”

Something changed in his voice then and Therion recognized it as the voice he used when he was talking to his patients. Gentle yet firm, insistent yet not pushy. Therion hesitated before he sighed and sat down.

“It’s the left foot,” he said.

Alfyn nodded. “Right, but let’s get you out of the sun first.”

He crouched down and stretched his arms out towards Therion but before he could even touch him, Therion got to his feet, ignoring how his ankle protested painfully at the pressure.

“I can stand just fine,” he said, pushing past Alfyn towards the shade of a nearby boulder before sinking down to a sitting position and leaning back against the stone with a sigh when the pain finally subsided.

Alfyn frowned but followed Therion to the boulder. “You know you shouldn’t be puttin’ pressure on your foot like that if it hurts so much.”

Therion gave no reply as he stretched his legs out in front of him. Alfyn sat cross-legged by Therion’s feet and lifted his left foot up gingerly before placing it on his knee and pulling the hem of Therion’s pants up. As gentle as he could, he removed Therion’s shoe to reveal a swell of flesh that hadn’t been there before.

“Oof,” Alfyn chuckled. “Yup. Looks like you sprained your ankle back there, bud.”

 _Bud_ , Therion noted with a twinge of annoyance.

“But not to worry.” Alfyn grinned up at him. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Alfyn opened his satchel and looked inside. A grim expression passed over his face for the briefest second before it was soon replaced by a wry smile. “Just as I thought. That little tussle with the birdian broke some of the glass bottles.” Then he reached inside and pulled out a familiar glass bottle filled with a greenish liquid, though the bottom was now cracked and was dripping all over Alfyn’s hands.

Alfyn reached back into his satchel and produced a smaller bottle full of a thick clear substance. He poured the greenish liquid into the bottle with the clear one and shook it vigorously, watching as the two liquids mixed and mingled with each other. “This should help ease the pain a little bit and maybe the swellin’ too,” he said as he poured some over his hands then proceeded to rub it over Therion’s swollen ankle.

The substance was cool against Therion’s skin and Alfyn’s hands were gentle, moving over his ankle with smooth and gentle strokes. Therion felt the tension release from his body as the cool sensation of the substance seeped into his skin and spread over his ankle. Alfyn didn’t miss the way Therion had relaxed and grinned up at him.

“Bet you’re glad that I stopped to get that cactus juice now, huh.”

“Shut up.”

Alfyn chuckled, using up the last of the substance before he placed the now empty bottles off to the side. He took out a roll of bandage from his satchel then got to work, wrapping it around Therion’s ankle with a speed and deftness Therion hadn’t been expecting.

It was then that Therion noticed how significantly more beaten up Alfyn looked compared to him. There were cuts and bruises of varying degrees on his arms, most probably from the birdian’s wings and talons. Some were small and only looked to be skin-deep but there were two particularly nasty gashes across his right arm that were still bleeding and didn’t look as shallow as the others. Although he had managed to wipe most of it off, there was still blood on Alfyn’s arms and clothes. Whether it was the birdian’s or his own, Therion couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t lost on Therion that he was only here because of Alfyn. If he hadn’t rammed into the birdian at that exact moment, Therion had no doubt he would have been carried off to become the birdian’s next meal. He still had his dagger back then but he was way lighter than Alfyn and at that point, he knew the birdian was just desperate enough to ignore the jab of his dagger and just grab him and fly away with him.

It would have been too easy for Alfyn, Therion thought, to just let the birdian have Therion and be done with him forever. To just turn his back on him and run away. But something else in Therion argued that the same could be said of him. When Alfyn was prone and was fighting off the birdian, why didn’t Therion run? It would have been easier than trying to get the birdian’s attention away from Alfyn. Why did he stay and fight the beast off? And why did Alfyn do the same for him?

And here he was, not even questioning what the clear substance in the other bottle had been, at the mercy of Alfyn’s hands and so-called expertise. Something inside him screamed at his short-sightedness, at his foolishness. Why wasn’t he resisting him more? Why was he willingly submitting himself to Alfyn like this? Why was he allowing Alfyn to see him so vulnerable like this?

“Does it hurt a lot?” Alfyn’s question interrupted his thoughts, eyes still on his hands. “Don’t try stretchin’ it though.”

Therion shook his head, realized that Alfyn wasn’t looking at him, then said a quick, “Not a lot.”

“Good,” Alfyn said, relieved. “That means it’s not severe. Some ice and a few days rest should heal it up real good.”

Therion remained silent, watching as Alfyn finished bandaging the sprain, cutting off the rest of the bandage with his teeth then tying it up neatly. He took out a clean piece of cloth from his satchel and laid his palm flat against it, his gaze concentrated on it. Therion stared along with him, unsure what it was he was doing. Then he heard something plop into the cloth, saw something weigh it down somewhat, and Alfyn lifted his hand to reveal small pieces of ice before wrapping them up in the cloth.

Therion raised his brows. “You know ice magic.”

Alfyn gave a small smile. “It has plenty of use in my trade.” He placed the cloth with the ice over Therion’s ankle then used more of the bandage to hold the cloth in place.

“That should do her,” Alfyn said with a proud grin as he finished tying up the bandage. “Now rest a bit while I sort this one out. Let me know when the ice melts.” Then he turned to his satchel and began emptying it of its contents, separating the broken and unusable pieces from the ones that had remained undisturbed.

Therion inspected his bandaged ankle and tried wiggling his toes. There was a twitch of pain but it was more irritating than outright painful and he knew that it wouldn’t be able to stop him from walking at least.

As soon as Alfyn was done tending to the contents of his satchel, he leaned back against the boulder with a sigh and a grimace. “Well, the good news is, most of my stuff was salvageable. The bad news is, there were still a lot of supplies that got wasted.”

Therion eyed the gash on Alfyn’s arm. “Aren’t you gonna tend to yourself?”

“Huh?” Alfyn followed Therion’s gaze to his arm and blinked. “Oh.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I forgot about that.”

Alfyn retrieved the roll of bandage again then rifled through his satchel some more. But as he continued searching inside, he cursed before giving up, picking up the bandage and beginning to wrap it around his wounded arm.

One he was done, Therion braced his hands against the ground and tried to lift himself up to his feet.

“Whoa!” Alfyn weighed Therion’s shoulders down with his hands, concern etched over his features. “And just where do you think you’re goin’?”

Therion scowled. “We’re nearly to the Woodlands.”

“But you’re injured.”

“So?”

Alfyn had the audacity to roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. “ _So_ , you’ve got to rest for at least a couple more minutes. And when you get up, you have to keep pressure off your foot, especially when you walk.”

Therion paused. “So I can still walk.”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“Then let’s get going.”

Alfyn sighed once more but didn’t stop Therion from getting to his feet. Therion winced, reaching out to steady himself against the boulder. Noticing the look on Alfyn’s face, Therion shifted his weight towards his right side. “There. Now I can walk, right?”

A frown was still etched deeply on Alfyn’s face but he didn’t argue. “At least let me support you,” he said, already providing his shoulder for Therion to lean on. But Therion limped right past him and back onto the road, not even sparing the corpse of the birdian one last glance before he started limping towards the direction of the Woodlands.

Alfyn caught up to him in no time. He was still walking nearest to the ravine’s edge. “Shucks, but I do feel bad for that birdian a bit,” he said. “Wasn’t it just huntin’ for food?”

Therion scoffed. “Well it was either it or us, medicine man. Take your pick.”

“You really should let me help you,” Alfyn said, more insistent than the last. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself.”

Therion glared at Alfyn beside him. “If I need your help, I’ll tell you. But right now, I don’t.” His eyes fell to Alfyn’s bandaged wound, noticed how the blood was starting to seep through the fabric.

_You should really worry about yourself more._

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, fixing Alfyn with a cold gaze. “I don’t owe you anything for this.”

Alfyn blinked then smiled. “Never said that you did.”

Therion turned away and quashed the rising feeling of guilt in his gut as he fixed his eyes on the sight of the Woodlands up ahead and kept walking, Alfyn quiet at his side.

They managed to reach the forest by sunset. One last descent down a steep slope, then the red earth gradually gave way to soft loamy dirt. Very soon, the first trees appeared, tall with dark green leaves. The wind here wasn’t hot or harsh, but a cool inviting breeze that spoke of the coming twilight. As soon as they entered the forest, it got significantly darker. The canopy of trees above them blocked out even the light of the rising moon and the buzzing of evening cicadas became louder the deeper they went.

“Hey, Therion?” Alfyn said a few minutes after they had entered the Woodlands.

“What?”

“Maybe we should stop for the night?”

Therion turned to Alfyn walking beside him then realized that he almost couldn’t make out his face in the dark. Therion stared up at the sky and in the few gaps between the tree’s leaves he could just make out how far the moon had risen and the tiny pinpricks of stars that had started to come out.

Therion gave a “hmph” in approval and he could hear Alfyn give a relieved sigh.

“Great. I think I hear a stream somewhere up ahead. Let’s go and find it.”

They found the stream off to the right of the path they had been following, past the brambly underbrush and through a small copse of trees. Not far from the stream was a tiny clearing where they set up their camp, though really their camp was made up of nothing but a small fire and their two sleeping packs. Well, they were Alfyn’s sleeping packs, one for him and the other an extra that he had packed, both thin enough to just barely fit inside his satchel when folded up. Therion would have been fine sleeping on the bare ground but Alfyn had insisted that he use his extra pack. Their dinner was a meager catch of two medium-sized fish Alfyn had caught from the stream and after their meal, Alfyn redressed his wounds, tended to Therion’s ankle then promptly declared that he was going to sleep.

Therion raised his brows. The question of why Alfyn wasn’t bothering to take stock of his supplies first nagged at his brain but he brushed it off and didn’t say anything.

“Good night, Therion,” Alfyn said cheerily before burrowing deep into his pack and pulling the thin fabric up to cover his body, his satchel lying close to his head. Therion was feeling a bit sleepy himself but it had always been a rule of his not to fall asleep before Alfyn did so he stayed up for at least half an hour more, till he could see Alfyn’s chest move up and down steadily and his body no longer moved so much beneath his blanket.

Then Therion put out the fire and tucked himself into his own sleeping pack, letting the noises of the cicadas and the occasional hoot of an owl lull him into sleep. Beneath his covers, his hand stayed clutched around the hilt of his dagger. 

Just in case.

****

When Therion woke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was Alfyn’s empty sleeping pack.

Therion was wide awake in an instant. He shot up, dagger unsheathed, and whipped around, expecting to see the apothecary sitting by his bedside with his axe or something to strangle him with, but he found only empty air.

Therion relaxed, sheathed his dagger then turned to inspect his surroundings. The sky was a pale bluish gray and light enough to indicate that sunrise wasn’t far off. There was a thin mist surrounding the clearing, obscuring everything beyond the first line of trees from view. The fire at the center of their camp was lit and on the makeshift spit made of tree branches were four skewered fish, sizzling over the fire.

But the first thing Therion noticed was the noise. The calls and chirpings of birds were everywhere, surrounding the clearing on all sides. Although he could make out none of them among the tree branches and through the mist, their calls rang clear and strong, filling the chilly early morning air with noise and activity. Therion had never heard this many birds before. The only bird call you could hear in the Cliftlands were those of the large predatory birds like the vultures that circled the skies, or occasionally an eagle or hawk. But recently their numbers had begun to dwindle and nowadays those calls usually meant the approach of a birdian, which was never a good sign as they learned yesterday.

But here, the air was thick with birdsong. There was no pause to their chatter, no lapse between the first call to the next. Just an endless overlapping cacophony of twitters and cries that heralded the arrival of dawn.

One particular birdcall cut through all the others, ringing out louder and clearer than the rest. The sound wasn’t unlike that of an owl but Therion had never heard an owl hoot like that before, especially in the daytime. It started out on a low note, then rose quickly, then faded low, only to begin again. The sound of it was solemn, a somber contrast to the more uplifting chirps of the other birds.

“Oh, was that a mournin’ dove?”

Alfyn walked into the clearing, carrying a pile of firewood in his arms.

“Mornin’,” Alfyn greeted him with a smile as he laid the pile of wood beside the fire. “Sorry, I just noticed you were starin’ up at the trees, like you were listenin’.”

He was but Therion wasn’t about to admit that. He gave a small “hmph” and turned towards the fire. Alfyn added more wood to the fire then started turning the fish on the spit, his attention fixated on the task. Therion noticed that the bandage around his wound was missing, though the wound was no longer bleeding. Still, the red flush around it didn’t look too good, especially in contrast to the paleness of Alfyn’s skin.

“How’s your ankle?” Alfyn asked.

Therion had forgotten all about his ankle. He looked down on it, all wrapped up in bandages, and shrugged. He pressed down on it lightly then immediately regretted it as he felt pain flare up.

Noticing the look on his face, Alfyn chuckled. “Still painful huh?”

Therion gave no response and contented himself with watching the fire crawl over the firewood Alfyn had just given it, overwhelming it in a matter of seconds and slowly reducing it to white ash.

Ah, there was that bird call again. A mourning dove, Alfyn had called it. Therion pulled his knees up and folded his arms above it, resting his chin there as he listened for the dove again, making note of every rise and fall, every little lilt and coo.

Before long, Alfyn took the fish off the spit and put two each on two separate bowls, handing one to Therion which the thief accepted. Alfyn sat down opposite Therion with his own bowl and the two ate in silence, content with the sound of the crackling fire and the birdcalls overhead.

The sun started to rise fully, breaking through the gray clouds above and slowly filling the clearing with light. The mourning dove gave one last mournful cry, a final goodbye to the fleeting dawn, before it stopped and was never heard again.

 _Too bad_ , Therion allowed himself to think. He gnawed on the fish bones till there was no morsel of meat left then put the bowl down with the fish skeletons still in it, biding the time till Alfyn finished his share.

He didn’t mean to stare at Alfyn as he ate. Therion himself hated being watched while he was eating (or doing anything really) and he thought that the least he could do was extend that courtesy to the apothecary. And on any other day, he wouldn’t have spared a glance. But today, something odd caught his attention. Alfyn was usually a more voracious eater. He came from a place of relative security and comfort (at least more than Therion), where he was used to having three full meals a day and perhaps even more in between. So now that he was forced to moderate his food rations, he ate every portion of food that he could get as if it was his last meal, relishing every bite like he hadn’t eaten in days.

But now he picked at his fish, took his time to chew between bites, and the look on his face told Therion that he wasn’t enjoying it one bit. The taste couldn’t have been the problem. The fish was bland but not entirely inedible. Therion had finished his without problem. But Alfyn was taking his sweet time until eventually he seemed to have given up and quietly put his bowl aside, one fish still only half-eaten.

Therion’s eyes fell on the apothecary’s satchel lying in the exact same spot it had been last night. Had Alfyn taken stock already? Was he going to check it later, or had he forgotten? But the satchel remained untouched as Alfyn collected his and Therion’s bowls, with Alfyn’s leftovers still intact, to wash in the stream. He opened the satchel only to keep his folded-up sleeping pack and the now clean bowls away afterwards but otherwise did nothing else.

Therion put Alfyn’s odd behavior out of his mind for the time being and did his fair share of cleaning up, folding his own sleeping pack, disassembling the spit and throwing dirt over the smoldering remains of their campfire. When they were done, apart from the obvious remnants of their fire, the clearing looked like they had never been there at all.

Therion listened once more for the mourning dove, hoping faintly that it would make its solemn sound one more time, but it didn’t come. He and Alfyn left the clearing and began their trek through the Woodlands, intent on getting to the nearest settlement before sundown.

Therion could walk without limping now, though it was less because his ankle was healing faster than normal and more out of the sheer willpower to ignore how much it hurt when he so much as took a step. Even still, Therion gritted his teeth and pressed on, trying not to show how much it was bothering him. He had lived through worse. He could get through a sprained ankle just fine.

But even when Therion protested, Alfyn insisted that they walk at a slower pace than usual. “You can’t be walkin’ like you normally do when you’ve got a sprained ankle,” the apothecary scolded Therion, brows stitched together in concern. “It’s still healin’ and it’s gonna take some time before it’ll be back to normal.”

There was a lot of eye rolling from Therion at that but he did as Alfyn said if only to get Alfyn off his case. He slowed his rushed pace just enough to convince the apothecary that he wasn’t putting unnecessary pressure on his ankle as he went. But despite his earlier protests, something in Therion felt relieved that it didn’t hurt as much anymore when he walked. Not like he was ever going to admit that Alfyn was right though.

It was midday by the time they caught sight of their first road sign, made of ancient weather-beaten wood with moss crawling up from its base. One part pointed towards the northeast, while the other pointed directly west.

“Says here the nearest village is a place called S’warkii in the northeast,” Alfyn said when they stood in front of it. “Well, I say nearest, but it says that it’s still a couple of kilometers away. Think we can get there before the sun sets on us again?”

Therion shrugged and turned to inspect the northeastern path. The road looked exactly like the one behind them, with trees and underbrush lining the dirt path, dotted with dappled sunlight.

“You’re headed to Noblecourt, right? In the Flatlands?” Alfyn asked. Therion blinked then turned to look at him, more than a little surprised that he had even remembered. “Yes?”

Alfyn rummaged around in his satchel and pulled out a map. ( _How many goddamn things could he fit in there?_ ) He bent his right leg up till he was balancing on his left and spread the map out over his thigh, tracing the path they were on with his finger. Therion’s eyes were drawn once more to the still unbandaged gash on his arm but when Alfyn lifted his head and met his eyes, the thief quickly averted his gaze.

“Then I think we should take the northeastern road to S’warkii and stop there for the day once we find it,” Alfyn said. “The road further north leads directly to the Frostlands but even if we keep walkin’, it looks like it’ll take a couple more days before we actually get there. If we make a little detour to S’warkii, we could rest at an inn and prepare for the journey north before we hit the road again.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Therion said simply before heading down the northeast road.

Alfyn walked after him, breath coming out in unusually heavy pants as he matched Therion’s pace. “You’re real eager to get to Noblecourt, huh?”

Therion shrugged. “I just don’t like wasting any more time than I have to.” _And with the pace you’ve set, it’s going to take us at least half the time it usually takes to get to where we’re going._

“Well it’s still daylight.” Alfyn looked up at the sunlight peeking in through the trees above their heads. “I don’t see what the hurry is. We can probably get to S’warkii by the end of the day.”

“Is that a guarantee?” Therion narrowed his eyes at Alfyn.

Alfyn paused then laughed lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just call it my intuition I guess.”

Therion hummed but didn’t say anything else, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. There were more and more cedar trees in this part of the forest. Everything about them was a shade darker than other trees, from their deep brown bark to the rich green of their leaves. There was still birdsong but not as much as earlier that morning. It was never truly quiet in the Woodlands. Even without the birds, there was plenty of other noise to go around. Leaves rustling in the wind, bushes shaking as squirrels and other small animals scattered at their approach and escaped into the underbrush, twigs snapping under their shoes, Alfyn kicking away a stone or two as he went.

And yet, there were still other unidentifiable sounds that surrounded them. Was that a low growl somewhere off to their right? An animal hiding in the bushes, just waiting for the right moment to pounce? Once there was a whistle that didn’t sound like it could have come from any bird they knew and another time, Alfyn swore that he had heard whispering.

Something in Therion told him not to take these woods lightly. There was something mysterious and almost otherworldly about it, something ancient and primordial lying in wait for the right thing to happen, the right excuse to rear its mossy head and remind the world that it was still around. Suddenly, despite the sunlight, the woods were beginning to look more sinister. Even Therion was starting to hear a whisper in the breeze, the faintest breath against the back of his neck, sending a slight chill down his spine.

“Hey, is it just me or is it hot in here?” Alfyn said, though his body shivered after he said so. “Like, really hot for some reason.”

Sure, it was starting to creep Therion out, but the temperature in the woods was cool. Much cooler than the Cliftlands at least. It was just humid enough to be the perfect balance between not too cold and not too hot.

Therion waited for Alfyn’s question, but it didn’t come. Yet another break from the usual.

Alfyn sighed and shed his jacket, draping it over his arm. He didn’t say another complaint after that but as they kept walking, Therion could almost feel the waves of heat coming from the apothecary. He could see sweat forming on his forehead, something that Alfyn was quick to wipe away, and the heavy breathing that he had tried to conceal for most of their trek was beginning to sound more like labored panting, like he had just run a marathon without rest.

“Should we stop?” Therion suggested a few minutes after. It wasn’t like him, he knew, but he was starting to get alarmed by the state Alfyn was in.

Alfyn stopped, blinked, then looked wide-eyed at Therion. “Oh. Sure, if you want to.”

Therion found a secluded spot behind some bushes on the side of the road, complete with a fallen log long enough to seat them both and then some. Alfyn sat on the log with a heavy sigh, as if he had just come home from a long day of work, and took off his satchel. Therion found an apple tree not far from their spot and returned to their spot with five ripe ones, handing three to Alfyn.

The apothecary blinked at him before accepting them. “But you’ve only got two,” he said.

Therion shrugged and sat down on the log, wiping the apple’s surface with his shawl for a second before biting into it. Alfyn opened his mouth to issue another protest but sighed after a second and proceeded to eat his apple in silence. However, just like with the fish, he only managed to finish one and a half. He threw the half he hadn’t eaten away and kept the spare apple in his satchel.

“Let me check your ankle real quick,” he said, kneeling down in front of Therion and ducking his head to keep his face from view.

Therion didn’t say a word as Alfyn peeled his left shoe off and started to unwind the bandages around Therion’s ankle.

“I don’t have anymore of that aloe juice unfortunately,” Alfyn admitted with a small chuckle. “But some healin’ balm should do the trick. Won’t be as effective but it’ll do in a pinch.” Alfyn produced said balm from his satchel and began applying it to Therion’s ankle.

His hands were warm; warmer than any person should be. And sweaty. It was a wonder that Alfyn wasn’t burning up himself.

Wait.

Alfyn _was_ burning up.

Therion could feel it through his hands, could see it in the sweat forming on his forehead and through the back of his shirt. Therion grabbed Alfyn’s chin and lifted it up till Alfyn had no choice but to look straight at Therion.

Alfyn’s eyes widened. “Therion, wh-“

Therion pressed the back of his hand against Alfyn’s forehead, silencing the apothecary for a solid second.

“You’re sick,” Therion said matter-of-factly, taking in the flush on Alfyn’s face and the glassiness of his eyes as he drew his hand back.

Alfyn wrenched his chin from Therion’s grasp and let out a forced laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m an apothecary, I would know if-“

“All the more reason to recognize that you have a fever.”

Alfyn didn’t answer for a long second, a second that seemed to stretch into minutes, before he gave another forced laugh and hastily finished rubbing the healing balm on Therion’s ankle.

“I’m fine, Therion,” he assured him, eyes focused on the task in front of him.

_What a spectacularly bad liar._

Using the same scrap of cloth from before, Alfyn laid his hand over it and concentrated. Five seconds passed. Ten. Alfyn sighed in exasperation but kept at it until a few tiny cubes of ice manifested on the cloth under his hand. But they were more water than ice this time and started to melt immediately after they were made. Alfyn was quick to press the cloth-wrapped ice against Therion’s ankle and bandage it back up (sloppy, compared to his previous work.) Then he turned away from the thief, grabbing his waterskin and emptying its contents into his mouth.

“We should get goin’,” he said, getting to his feet and slinging his satchel onto his shoulder.

Therion frowned and grabbed the green apothecary’s jacket from where Alfyn had forgotten it on the log. He rose and ran after Alfyn. He stepped in front of the apothecary and shoved the jacket into his hands, scowling. Alfyn blinked and offered Therion a wan smile before draping the jacket over his satchel. But even as Alfyn began to walk forward, Therion remained where he stood, staring.

Alfyn sighed. “Didn’t you say you didn’t wanna waste time?”

Therion raised a brow. “Am I wasting time, or are you?”

“Come on, we should get a move on if we wanna get to S’warkii soon.”

“Not while you’re like this.”

Alfyn couldn’t meet Therion’s eyes. He brought his hand up to the back of his neck and smiled at the ground, a nervous little laugh making its way past his lips. “I’m _fine_ , Therion, honest.”

Therion wanted to roll his eyes so bad but he resisted and simply took a step closer to Alfyn. “If you can make me walk slower for the rest of the journey because of my ankle, then I can make you stop for a second and take some goddamn medicine for your fever.”

Something in Alfyn’s expression changed at that moment. The smile died and this time he looked at Therion. Really _looked_ at him. Therion’s skin crawled not so much because of the sudden scrutiny but because of the look in Alfyn’s eyes. Unreadable. Like a change in temperature, like an open book suddenly snapping close and refusing to be pried open.

The laugh that Alfyn uttered then was harsh, too harsh to have actually belonged to him. And yet, Therion heard it come straight from his mouth, heard it hang in the air between them loud and clear. It was neither good-natured nor joking. It was bitter and grating and it couldn’t have been further than what Therion had come to expect from Alfyn Greengrass.

“You know, I just don’t get you, Therion,” Alfyn said. “You put up this wall, act all cool and indifferent. But then you pull stuff like this. Stuff that makes me think that-”

Alfyn stopped himself, his mouth opening around the words but not fully forming them. Then, smiling despite it all, he spat out, “What do you care what happens to me anyway? Why would you ever care so much about anyone?”

Therion was frozen, more stunned than anything else. Something in him couldn’t reconcile the cold and casual cruelty of the words with the sound of Alfyn’s voice. But it was there, there like the smile that was still on Alfyn’s face, the smile that reminded Therion too much of a sharp knife against his back, of a rough hand around his neck, of his feet dangling over nothing but open air.

Ah, there it was.

The pretense in Alfyn Greengrass that Therion had been looking for.

Then suddenly, it was gone, replaced very quickly by a wide-eyed look of horror and remorse.

“Oh gods,” Alfyn muttered, the blood draining from his face. He took a step forward, swayed a bit on the spot, but kept his eyes on Therion, reaching out a tentative hand towards him. “Therion, I – I’m sorry, shucks, I didn’t mean it, I-“

“Okay.”

The tone was flat, the word final.

“Okay.” Therion looked up at Alfyn, eyes like steel. “You’re right. What do I care?”

Therion turned his back on Alfyn and walked. He didn’t turn his head to see if Alfyn was following nor did he stop or slow his pace to allow him time to catch up. He just kept walking. It was less having somewhere to walk to and more of having somewhere to walk away from. And right now, that somewhere was wherever Alfyn Greengrass was.

Therion had been right not to trust him.

He had been right to be watchful, to be wary of every single word and action.

He had been right not to underestimate his openness, his friendliness, his too bright smiles and even brighter words.

The only mistake he had made was when for one moment, for one small short-sighted moment, he had actually been _worried_ about the apothecary. No, not just worried. He had been anxious, afraid even. He had actually wanted to _help_ him.

_You never learn your lesson, do you?_

And yet something kept nagging at Therion’s thoughts.

Why _did_ he care anyway? Why had he allowed himself to be worried about Alfyn Greengrass when he didn’t even trust him? Something in him told him to make it make sense but Therion couldn’t.

It just didn’t make sense.

_“Why would you ever care so much about anyone?”_

“Therion!”

He didn’t dare look back.

“Therion, will you please just stop?”

Not a chance.

“ _Therion!”_

The desperation in his voice made Therion hesitate but only for a second. He kept walking, intent on putting as much distance between him and Alfyn as possible. His ankle ached, becoming more and more painful with every step he took, but he ignored it. He had lived through worse. He could get through this just fine.

“Therion, _stop_!”

A clammy hand grabbed his arm and forced him to spin around to face Alfyn, surprised at how fast he had managed to catch up to him. Alfyn was panting, cheeks flushed and breath forming clouds in front of his face. He stumbled a bit as he drew closer to Therion but Therion only edged away.

“Do you-“ Alfyn said in between pants, “do you even know where you’re goin’?!”

Therion froze, eyes going wide for a second. He took a look around for the first time since he started walking and realized with a sinking feeling that he could no longer hear the sound of birds. 

The trees loomed taller all of a sudden, tall enough to block out the sunlight. Mist hung low to the ground, swirling over their feet and covering everything on the forest floor from view. And beyond the trees that lined whatever narrow path they were on, there were shadows everywhere. Therion couldn’t distinguish between them, couldn’t tell whether that one over there was a rock or something else, whether that long thin one was a tree or a person.

Either way, it didn’t take long for Therion to realize that they were now lost.

The creepy feeling Therion had about the woods earlier only got worse the more he looked around. He looked behind Alfyn but could no longer find the path they had been on. And now he didn’t know whether it was even the right path in the first place.

“Shit,” Therion cursed under his breath and shook Alfyn’s hand off his arm. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!” He groaned and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How could he let this happen? How could he have been so careless?

_First that damn apothecary, now this._

Therion wanted to strangle Alfyn and then himself afterward. This was becoming too much.

“Calm down now,” Alfyn said but Therion ignored him, electing to continue on down the path. “Hey, where do you think you’re goin’!”

“Getting out of here,” Therion gritted out. There had to be a path under all the mist, evidenced by the gap between the trees, and it had to lead to somewhere. But even Therion thought his reasoning was flimsy at best. They were already lost to begin with. Any more of his head-long excursions into the unknown was more likely to just get them even more lost than they already were. But still he kept going. Anything, _anything_ , to not have to listen to Alfyn.

“Wait, Therion!” Alfyn grabbed at his arm again and this time it was stronger. It was also _hot_ , like Alfyn’s palm was burning a brand into his skin.

“ _What?!_ ” Therion snapped, stopping and turning to glare at Alfyn. There they stood at the entrance to a misty clearing, staring each other down.

The silence stretched into an eternity, longer than Therion could stand. He sighed and shook his arm free of Alfyn’s burning hand. “Look, we don’t have time-“

A low feral growl interrupted Therion, coming from nowhere yet everywhere at the same time. They both looked around frantically, trying to discern the source of the noise, but they didn’t have to look far.

Out of the trees in front of them and into the clearing emerged a creature unlike anything they had ever seen. Its body wove between the trees like a cat but it dwarfed any cat that Therion knew. It was hairless other than the matted black fur that covered its back and its tail. It crept forward on all four legs, its hind legs longer than its front. Its toes were long and thin, ending in dirty razor sharp nails.

But perhaps the most disturbing thing about it were its eyes. It had huge red eyes bulging out of its head, its tiny dark pupils fixed solely on Alfyn and Therion. It licked its lips with a long purple tongue, drool dripping down from its mouth, and showed off two rows of sharp teeth. There was still blood on those teeth, a fact that chilled Therion’s own blood in his veins.

The creature growled again as it circled them slowly, never taking its eyes off its prey. Therion’s hand was already wrapped around his sword pommel, ready to draw it at the slightest motion. He couldn’t take his eyes off the creature to see what Alfyn was doing but he hoped that he was at least preparing to defend himself. He had no time to worry about him in the middle of battle. But _gods_ , that’s _right_ , he still had a goddamn fever. Could he even fight off the creature in the condition that he was in? Dear Aelfric, they were in deep _deep_ -

Therion couldn’t even finish the thought before the creature pounced, leaping off its hind legs and into the air. Therion just barely steered clear of its claws as he leapt to the side. He swore that it had almost caught the tail end of his scarf, but he had managed to duck out of the way at the right moment.

Alfyn as well seemed to have (just barely) dodged it, rolling away in the opposite direction of Therion then standing back up and hefting his axe into his hands. The creature turned and threw its head back to let out a high-pitched cry that echoed throughout the clearing. It turned its bulging eyes to Therion and advanced towards him, crawling on all fours. Therion tried to run out of the way again but this time the creature was quick to react, turning its entire body in the direction Therion was headed and moving to cut off his path to escape.

Therion cursed and dug his heels into the ground. He pulled out his sword and slashed at the creature, hoping that it would hit or at least keep it at bay. _And then what?_ What was his plan? What could they possibly do to get out of this?

The creature swiped at Therion with its claws, getting him right after he finished a slash with his sword. Its nails tore into the front of Therion’s shawl, ripping the fabric apart with one swipe. Therion stumbled backwards and landed heavy on his left foot. White-hot pain coursed up from his ankle, burning its way through his bloodstream, and freezing him in place. He cried out and fell to his knees, miraculously keeping his grip on his sword.

The creature let out another cry, triumphant, and was on Therion in a second, crushing him beneath its feet. Therion felt all the air leave his lungs in one choking breath, heard the painful crack of his ribs, as he knocked his head against the hard earth and as the edges of his vision turned blurry. He could taste iron in his mouth and a burning liquid at the back of his throat.

Just as his vision was starting to go black, the creature let out a screech and lifted its claws. Therion gasped, air suddenly rushing back into his lungs, and he coughed, vaguely aware of the blood that came with it. He heard someone call out his name and felt hands pulling him up. Rough hands that left brands of fire on his skin, sweaty hands that were strong enough to pull him upright. Whoever was holding him upright turned and Therion saw a flash of green, a bolt of white, another figure standing in front of the creature with their back to them, before his vision finally went black and he fell into darkness.

****

Therion awoke in a dim unfamiliar room with a heavy fur fabric draped over him. He stared up at the wooden ceiling for a long moment before he finally turned his head to look around. The room was small and sparsely decorated. A wooden closet stood off to one side, beside it a chest of drawers. A dining table at the center of the room with four chairs around it atop a woven rug. There was a brick stove at one corner with a pot hanging over a low flame and Therion could smell something cooking from it, see the steady rise of steam leaving out of an opening above that no doubt led to a chimney.

But what caught his eye was the second cot not too far from where he lay and the figure that lay on it, chest rising and falling steadily with every breath. Alfyn was still asleep, as far as Therion could tell. His eyes were closed at the very least but that didn’t really mean anything.

With a soft groan, Therion pushed himself upright. The fur blanket fell away to expose his chest, wrapped up in bandages, and he noticed his shawl and scarf folded up at the foot of the bed. As soon as he had even tried to move, Therion felt his whole upper body seize in pain, protesting the sudden movement. He flopped back down on the bed with a sigh and didn’t move for at least a minute. Even just breathing was painful. Anything more than a quiet exhale felt like something was jabbing into his lungs, making it even harder to breath.

When the pain subsided, he reached down and felt for his sword and dagger. But they were nowhere on him. He turned his head to the side, tried to see past his own cot, but couldn’t see beyond the edge of the bed.

He tried to remember what had happened, what had led them here in the first place.

They were on the way to S’warkii. Were they in S’warkii now? Or some other Woodlands village? But they couldn’t have gotten here this quickly. What had happened after that?

They had gotten lost. That’s right. Therion had gotten themselves lost. Because-

Ah, right.

Now he remembered.

Therion wanted to punch himself in the gut but the broken ribs and the bruises that covered his body was probably payback enough. His gaze turned back to the sleeping figure of Alfyn. The apothecary lay on his back, covered up to his neck with the same fur blanket as Therion. There was a cloth folded over his eyes and forehead and on his bedside table was a wooden bowl with another cloth hanging from it.

How had they gotten themselves out from that fight with that creature?

Had Alfyn saved him once more?

“Tch,” Therion uttered. Just his luck that he had to go and owe Alfyn again.

But what did he care, right?

At that moment, the door to the room swung open with a creak and Therion shut his eyes out of instinct, feigning sleep. There were footsteps followed by a sigh and the thumping sounds of something being put down on the floor. Whoever it was started opening up the window shutters and behind his eyelids, Therion saw the light grow brighter.

But there was another set of footsteps now, these ones much lighter than the other, but they were there all the same. Therion could hear the soft thumping of their feet on the wooden floor coming closer. It sounded like they were walking on fur-lined boots but with the fur outside rather than in.

Suddenly something snorted right into Therion’s ear and blew hot breath over his face and Therion’s eyes shot open of their own accord, coming face to face with the big blue eyes and pink snout of a large white cat.

Therion was quick to sit upright and scramble away from it, ignoring the painful jab at his side.

“Linde, down!” a voice commanded and the giant white cat gave Therion one more assessing look before it obediently dropped its paws from the bed and padded over to the side of a tall imposing woman with a long platinum blonde braid. She met Therion’s gaze and smiled. “I see thou art awake.”

“Where am I?” Therion wasted no time in asking.

“Thou art in S’warkii,” the woman said as she attended to the pot over the fire, turning her back on him. “’Tis thy first time here, aye?”

Therion eyed the woman warily, taking note of the bow and sheath full of arrows slung over her shoulder. His eyes then fell on the white cat who was still staring at him as if daring him to make a move. After some time, the woman turned and walked over to Therion’s bedside, a wooden bowl and spoon in hand.

“Here,” she said, holding the bowl out to Therion which he could now see was filled with some sort of broth. The woman grabbed a chair from the dining table and sat down on it. “Thou must be hungry.”

Therion looked between the woman and the broth, remaining motionless. Noticing his apprehension, the woman laughed. “Thou need not worry. I have not poisoned thy broth.”

He hesitated for another second before relenting and taking the bowl from the woman. The woman sat back and watched as Therion took his first tentative sip. When he was sure that he couldn’t detect any poison in its flavor, he was digging into the broth like he hadn’t eaten in days, which was partly true given the meager portions he had been forced to eat while on the road. He didn’t even mind that the woman was watching him the whole time, too hungry to even care, but he nevertheless caught the calculating look in the woman’s eyes.

Therion finished the broth not even five minutes after and handed the empty bowl back to the woman. The woman took it and gave him a benign smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Wouldst thou liken another serving?”

Therion nodded wordlessly and the woman got up to get him more. Her cat remained by Therion’s side, tail swishing back and forth against the floor. It didn’t take its eyes off the thief once and Therion found himself staring it down, not daring to look away. The woman returned and gave him another bowl, forcing Therion to break off his staring contest with the cat to take the bowl from her.

“Do not minden Linde so,” the woman said as she took her seat. “She is simply curious about thee.”

“I’ve never seen a cat so big,” Therion said in between spoonfuls of soup.

The woman chuckled and scratched Linde behind the ears. “She is a snow leopard, hailing from the Frostlands. She hast been with me since she wert a cub.”

Therion hummed, feigning interest. They lapsed into silence until Therion finished his second bowl of broth and set it aside. “Where are my weapons?” he asked the woman matter-of-factly.

The woman raised her brows. “Art thou so eager to returnen to battle?”

“What happened back there? In the forest.” Therion persisted, serious.

The woman grimaced and crossed her arms over her chest before saying, “Thou and thy companion had the misfortune to runnen into the Ghisarma.”

“The Ghisarma?” Therion frowned.

“Aye,” the woman continued. “’Tis a horrible thing, what that creature hast been reduced to. Fortunately for thee, Linde and I were on the hunt for the Ghisarma and happened upon it while thou were trapped in its clutches.”

Therion nodded, urging her to go on. But the woman was studying him now, careful and calculating. “Thy companion was most worried about thee,” she said. “Even after we had slayen the Ghisarma, he was most insistent about thy condition. He carried thee all the way back here and would not leaven thy side until thy condition wast stable.” She scoffed. “Only then did he revealen that he wast suffering from an ailment himself and allowed himself to be treated.”

 _That fucking idiot_ , was Therion’s first thought. But a second thought followed it immediately. _What do I care though?_

“Really now?” Therion said, deliberately avoiding looking over at Alfyn’s cot. “And then what? How long has it been since we first got here? And what do you intent to do with us?”

The woman frowned. “Thou makest it sound as if I have ill intentions towards thee.”

Therion gave a derisive chuckle. “I’m merely asking what it is you want in return.”

The woman shook her head with a laugh. “There is nothing I can within good conscience asken from thee in return. But perhaps for thy sake, I wilt humor thee.” Her eyes turned steely and cold as she leaned forward, resting her arms against her knees. “What wert thou and thy companion doing in the Whisperwood?”

Therion couldn’t look away and something told him that even if he tried to lie, the woman would be able to see right through him. Although she had been nothing but a kind host up until then, she had an intimidating air about her. Firm, with the resolve to do whatever was needed to get something done. Her eyes followed Therion’s every move like a hawk, not letting even the smallest action go unnoticed.

Something told Therion that she had no ill intentions, yet there was still something menacing about her. There was a line and Therion knew that if he crossed it, the benevolence that she had shown him would be swiftly replaced by something much more sinister. 

In short, she was the kind of person Therion didn’t want to make an enemy of. So he told her the truth.

From their entrance to the Woodlands all the way to how they got lost in the Whisperwood. He didn’t mention his quest for the dragonstones or anything before he and Alfyn had started traveling together. He said only that they were traveling companions and left it at that. He didn’t mention the reason why they had gotten lost in the first place either. He didn’t outright lie about it, just conveniently left it out.

But Therion knew that the woman could tell that he was hiding some things. She could sense the words that Therion wasn’t saying just below the ones he did say, but she didn’t press him for details or inquire about anything until Therion was finished talking.

“So you see,” he said even as every word sent pain through his chest, “we were only passing through. But it’s up to you if you believe me, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” the woman hummed. “T’would indeed appear as if thou wert only caught in the Whisperwood’s enchantments by accident. The woods are ancient and even we of S’warkii have yet to truly understand its many mysteries.” She fixed him with a look and Therion could almost hear her thinking.

Finally, she sighed and leaned away from Therion. “I suppose I cannot fault thee for what happened. Forgiven me if I have caused thee offense for doubting thy story. I am simply wary of strangers.”

“No, I get it,” Therion said and offered a rare smile, buttering it up as much as he could. “Sometimes you can’t help but be cautious.”

“Indeed,” the woman scoffed. “Especially if thou art talking to a thief.”

Therion’s blood ran cold. The smile on his lips died just as fast as it had appeared and his hands instinctively grabbed for the dagger at his side, though it grasped only empty air.

He had been careless. Again. Suddenly he was all too aware of the fool’s bangle lying right out in the open, shackled to his wrist. There was no use hiding it now but he slid his hand underneath the blanket anyway. He gave a derisive laugh. “Indeed, especially then.”

“Hm.” The woman’s eyes tracked the movement of his hand before she looked up and smiled. It was a strange kind of smile, one that Therion had only ever seen once. It was the smile of a hunter looking at their trapped prey. A smile that playfully said _I got you_ before it bared its teeth and pounced. Yet it wasn’t haughty, nor triumphant. (Not at all like the smile Therion had seen before.) It simply - was.

“And what, if thou wouldst allowen me to ask, dost a thief have any business traveling with an apothecary?”

Therion was silent for a moment. “My business is my own. It’s got nothing to do with the apothecary.”

The woman hummed, “And dost the apothecary feelen the same?”

Therion couldn’t answer that. And the woman knew. She smiled and got up from her seat, looking pleased with her work. Linde followed her master to the sink by the stove, standing by as the woman washed Therion’s bowl, set it aside, blew out the fire on the stove then headed for the door.

She turned back to Therion as she was about to step out. “Thou should rest,” she said, her tone much milder, eyes a bit friendlier. “It will taken some time before thou art well enough to be travelling again.”

Therion snorted. “And when I’m better? What are you going to do? Turn me in?”

The woman was quiet before speaking, “That wouldst depend on what thou decides to do.” Then she was gone, closing the door behind her and Linde with a final slam, and leaving Therion with nothing but his thoughts to occupy his time.

****

After the woman left, Therion found that he couldn’t go back to sleep and he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling till the sun set and evening came. The evening had long since turned into night when the woman returned from whatever errands she had left to do and started fixing them dinner made from the meat of a boar she and her snow leopard Linde had hunted earlier. As if enticed by the smell of cooking meat, Alfyn woke, suddenly sitting up in bed to look deliriously around the room. He recognized the woman immediately and even appeared to be friendly with her despite admitting that he hadn’t known her long.

It was then that the woman introduced herself as H’aanit to Therion. She was a huntress who had lived in S’warkii with her master Z’aanta. But recently, her master had gone missing and in his stead, she had volunteered to hunt the Ghisarma which had been driven out of its home and had taken refuge in the Whisperwood when Alfyn and Therion had stumbled upon it. It had been a day since H’aanit had rescued them and brought them back to S’warkii to nurse them back to health.

“Shucks, were we lucky when you swooped in like that!” Alfyn said as he accepted his plate of food from H’aanit. He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand and laughed. “Don’t know what I would have done without ya!”

He wasn’t looking at him. He was deliberately not looking in Therion’s direction. But Therion didn’t mind. After all, why should he care?

“Think nothing of it,” H’aanit said as she handed Therion’s plate to him. “I wast only doing mine duty.”

Linde began pawing at H’aanit’s leg, looking up at her with big pouty eyes before H’aanit sighed and gave her a smile, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. “All right Linde. But thou art impatient tonight, aren’t thee?” H’aanit was just in the process of filling Linde’s bowl with some of the cooked meat when a piercing howl came from outside.

Therion and Alfyn both froze in the middle of their eating. The howl sounded like it came right on the other side of the wall. Their suspicions proved to be true when H’aanit finished filling Linde’s bowl and cast the both of them an apologetic smile. “Apologies. ‘Tis only Hägen, my master’s companion. He refusen to come inside so I must go out to feeden him.”

And with that, H’aanit took the rest of the meat that wasn’t already set aside for her own meal and left the room.

And then Therion and Alfyn were alone.

Well, apart from Linde, but Therion didn’t think she counted.

As soon as they were left alone together, Therion could feel Alfyn’s gaze flitting between his meal and Therion, no doubt scrambling for something to say to fill the tense silence with but Therion kept his eyes on his food and just ate, intent on not meeting any of Alfyn’s surreptitious glances.

Finally, the apothecary sighed and turned his body to face Therion fully. “Hey,” he started, low and vague. Therion could tell he was trying not to sound too hostile or too pushy. At least he was trying.

Therion put down his fork and looked up, for once meeting his gaze.

As soon as their eyes met, something shifted in Alfyn. The brave face he was putting on cracked and his cheeks flushed.

“I…” he began but didn’t continue. Therion raised his brows, waiting for him to continue. Daring him to. But Alfyn never rose to the challenge. He crumpled his hands into fists and looked away, scowling. Therion wanted to smirk, a wordless _I knew you didn’t have it in you_ , but instead he turned back to his food and continued eating. But a few seconds later, Therion dared a glance from a corner of his eye just to check that the gash on Alfyn’s arm was bandaged up.

H’aanit returned to find the room the same way she had left it and sat down at the dining table to dig into her own meal. She and Alfyn made light conversation as they ate, him asking her about S’warkii and her master, and she asking him about Clearbrook and his life as an apothecary. Alfyn recounted how he had saved his best friend’s little sister from a venomous viper, a story Therion had already heard before, and about the apothecary who had saved him when he had been a boy. H’aanit talked about growing up with her master Z’aanta, of going out hunting with him and Linde and Hägen.

When they were all finished eating, H’aanit gathered their dirty plates. Alfyn insisted on doing the dishes but H’aanit only scolded him, telling him to focus on his recovery before she walked over to the sink and began washing.

Therion lay back down on his bed, resting his hands behind his head as he resigned himself to another few hours of just staring idly up at the ceiling. Once she was done with the dishes, H’aanit walked over to Alfyn’s bedside and crouched down to rummage in his satchel.

“Now Alfyn, thou must tellen me clearly and precisely this time. Which remedies must I administer for thy fever?”

“Oh, uhh,” Alfyn leaned forward so he could see the bottles H’aanit was holding up for him. “You have to grind some of the ingredients up first. Take some of that essence of grape – yeah, that should be enough – and I’ve got a mortar and pestle right there. Ground it up till it’s fine then add it to that bottle with the clear liquid. No no, not _that_ clear liquid, the other one. Whoa, slow down, it doesn’t have to be that fine!”

After some more of Alfyn attempting to instruct H’aanit as best as he could and H’aanit griping about Alfyn’s imprecise instructions, she finally got Alfyn to drink his own medicine and lie back down to rest, replacing the damp cloth over his forehead with a fresh one.

Then it was Therion’s turn and H’aanit once again asked Alfyn for instructions.

“Huh?” Alfyn said, sounding half-asleep on his cot. “Oh…” His voice trailed off and Therion almost suspected that he had actually dropped off to sleep before he continued, “Get some ice on it, then I’ve got some painkiller he can drink in my satchel. Labelled it, lucky for you. Other than that, you don’t have to do much about the ribs I reckon. All he’s gotta do is rest a few days and try not to move too much. You can probably start loosenin’ the bandages now, so he can breathe more. Constrictin’ it only makes the pain worse at this point.”

“I will needen thy magic for the ice,” H’aanit said and Alfyn gave a wry smile. “Yeah, I just remembered ‘bout that.”

“Mine apologies,” H’aanit said as Alfyn sat up in bed but Alfyn only laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s no problem. This is nothin’.”

He brought his palm over the cloth H’aanit held out to him and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, cubes of ice dropped down from Alfyn’s hand, but they were tinier than usual and there wasn’t as much as he could normally make. After a minute, Alfyn withdrew his hand, wiping away a new sheen of sweat from his forehead.

“I hope that’s enough,” he said. “Sorry, I can usually make more than this. But it’s exhaustin’ the hell outta me in this state.”

“’Tis enough. I thank thee, Alfyn.” H’aanit tied up the cloth securely before laying it over the left side of Therion’s ribs, where Therion claimed it hurt the most. After H’aanit had loosened up the bandages, Therion found that exhaling didn’t hurt as much anymore, though the pain persisted.

“And what about thine ankle?” H’aanit asked.

Ah, right.

Therion had forgotten about his ankle.

“Ointment,” was all Alfyn said, his words starting to sound heavy.

“Which one, Alfyn?” H’aanit asked, prodding Alfyn awake. “It paineth me to have to ask more of thee when thou needs to resten, but I do need thine expertise quite badly.”

“It’s the balm,” Therion said and H’aanit turned to look at him, surprised. “It’s thicker, sort of gel-like. Clear but more on the grayish side. All you’ve gotta do is rub it over the swell and then rebandage it. That’s all.”

“Ah. I see,” H’aanit said, a question in her eyes which she didn’t voice. After presenting Therion with numerous bottles, she finally managed to find the right one and set about her task. Her hands were strong and firm, sure and decisive, but they had none of that gentle assuredness of Alfyn’s. She finished bandaging up Therion’s ankle with a sigh and then bade the both of them good night before pulling out a fur sleeping pack from beneath Therion’s bed and laying it out on the floor. She put out the oil lamp, crawled into her pack, and the room was quiet save for the occasional purring of Linde, lying on the floor beside H’aanit.

Therion didn’t know how much time passed. He wasn’t sure if he had somehow fallen asleep but whether or not he did, he was still facing the ceiling when he heard movement in the dark. For a moment, his mind raced with thoughts of intruders, someone coming to strangle him or slit his throat, and his hand once again grasped for his missing dagger.

But when he turned his head, he found only Alfyn sitting upright in his cot, breathing heavily for a moment before he reached down for the wooden bucket H’aanit had left by his bedside and emptied the contents of his stomach into it. When he was done, Alfyn gave a great sigh and grasped for the glass of water on his bedside, wiping the corner of his mouth before he drank every last drop.

Therion expected him to go back to sleep after, to lie back down on his cot and not move till morning, but instead, Alfyn sat there for what felt like ages, staring down at his feet. Therion had no idea if he was even aware that Therion was awake as well, but after a long minute, Alfyn got up and stumbled towards the door. Linde raised her head before she got up to follow him, pushing against the door till it opened and she slipped out. H’aanit remained motionless in her sleeping pack.

With some effort, Therion pulled himself upright and out of his bed. If he kept his back straight like this, his ribs didn’t hurt him as much. That, and the painkiller from earlier seemed to have finally taken effect. Therion was careful not to step on his left foot first as he stood and made his way to the door, stepping around H’aanit’s sleeping pack as he went. He found it a bit odd that H’aanit wasn’t showing any signs of waking up, or that Linde hadn’t woken her to deal with Alfyn, but he gave it the benefit of the doubt and ignored it for now.

All sorts of aches made themselves known across his body but he pushed them out of his mind as he pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool late night air of S’warkii. A rush of cold wind hit Therion, making him shiver and wish that he had taken his shawl. He took a step of forward, realized that he couldn’t handle the cold after all and immediately retreated back into the house to grab his shawl and scarf. He draped his shawl over himself as he stepped out, making sure to close the door as gently as possible.

But the noise of the lock still caught Alfyn’s attention and the apothecary turned to look at Therion from where he sat on a log bench with Linde’s head on his lap, facing the woods and the swarms of fireflies floating in the air above them.

“Therion,” Alfyn breathed. “Wh-“

“Just making sure you won’t injure yourself any more than you already have,” Therion said pointedly as he walked over to the bench. He flinched when he noticed the largest gray wolf he had ever seen lying asleep on the ground not far from the front door. The wolf opened one yellow eye to look at him before it closed it and went back to sleep.

“Don’t mind Hägen,” Alfyn said over his shoulder. “He’ll leave you alone if you leave him alone.”

Still, Therion eyed the sleeping wolf warily before moving to take a seat on the other end of the bench, maintaining a distance between him and Alfyn.

“You’re more injured than I am,” Alfyn said, not looking at him. “You should go back and rest.” But he didn’t say any more, nor did he try to physically get Therion back into bed.

They were silent, both staring off into the same dark forest. Alfyn was running his hands through Linde’s fur and the leopard purred as she reclined against the bench. The sound of crickets and cicadas surrounded them, and with the absence of all other light from the rest of S’warkii, the light of the fireflies glowed even brighter, luminescent green dots flitting here and there above their heads.

“I’m sorry.”

It came out so soft Therion almost didn’t hear it. But there, now it was in the air between them, echoing still in both of their minds.

“I’m sorry that I – that I said what I said. There’s no excuse for it and I know I can’t take it back now. But I want to plead my case all the same and say that I didn’t mean it. You have to believe me, Therion. I never meant to hurt you like that.”

When Therion looked at Alfyn then, there was desperation in his glassy eyes and his hands were shaking, whether from the cold, the fever or from fear, he couldn’t be sure. Therion took off his shawl and threw it in Alfyn’s direction. The apothecary caught it with a look of surprise.

“You’re cold,” Therion said simply as he wrapped his scarf around himself instead. “You’re gonna make your fever worse.”

Alfyn chuckled and draped the shawl over his shoulders, smiling softly. “I feel stupid,” he said. “How could I say that to you, when you do things like this?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Therion muttered and Alfyn let out a small laugh before they lapsed once more into silence.

“Why did you try to hide it?” Therion asked the air in front of him. “Why couldn’t you just stop for a minute and rest?”

Alfyn let out a mirthless chuckle. “I thought I could handle it. I was stupid. I don’t know. I ran out of disinfectant. You know, when the birdian got me?” His words were rushing out in feverish rambling, but Therion let him ramble, let him explain himself. “I know I had that wound but I thought we’d make it to S’warkii before I would actually need disinfectant. But there must have been somethin’ on that birdian’s talons, some sort of poison or bacteria or whatever, cause the wound just kept gettin’ worse even when I was replacin’ the bandages and washin’ it and all. And then you had sprained your ankle and I guess I was just real worried ‘cause my mind was more preoccupied about you than it was about me.”

 _About you_. It could have just been a coincidental word choice, a statement given without much thought that probably meant nothing. And yet something about the word choice felt deliberate. Something about the way Alfyn said _you_ and nothing else after – just _yo_ u – had Therion feeling some sort of way. A faint stirring in his chest that wasn’t all pain and broken ribs, a sudden tenseness in his shoulders that wasn’t entirely because of the cold, and an unexpected gravity that drew Therion’s eyes towards Alfyn more insistently, as if demanding for his attention for the sake of attention alone.

A cloud formed in front of Alfyn’s face as he exhaled slowly. “I didn’t even recognize the symptoms till you pointed it out.” He scoffed. “Some apothecary I am, huh? When you told me that I had a fever, I _knew_ it, but I just didn’t want to admit it. Not to you. It sounds stupid now, but I guess, I just didn’t want you to see me like that. Beaten at my own game. I didn’t want to admit that I had made a mistake in front of you. And I took all my frustration out on you, when you were only tryin’ to help me.”

“That _was_ pretty stupid of you,” Therion said bluntly.

Alfyn hung his head. “Shucks, you don’t mince your words, do you?”

Therion shrugged. “What’s the use? What I’d like to know is what dumb line of thinking led to doing something so stupid.” He should have known better, Therion knew. Any self-respecting apothecary should have known better than that.

“I have my pride too, you know. I wanted to appear strong in front of you. Tough.” Alfyn’s voice trailed off before he turned his head away from Therion so he couldn’t even see the side of his face. “I wanted to impress you, I guess,” he said in a soft voice, so soft Therion almost thought he was imagining it. Almost. 

Alfyn suddenly faced him, brown eyes filled with new sort of resolve. “That’s no excuse though and it wasn’t worth hurting you over. I’m sorry, Therion. I really am.”

They stayed that way for a few long silent seconds before Therion sighed and leaned back against his arms. What could he say to that? _It’s all right, I’ve forgiven you_ , like that? Was that how people did it? Therion’s mind was racing. He knew Alfyn was still waiting for an answer. He looked like he was holding his breath even, not daring to make a single sound till Therion responded.

He wasn’t looking away, wasn’t cracking under the pressure of Therion’s gaze, wasn’t stuttering or wavering with his words. Alfyn Greengrass was not lying this time and Therion knew that. Suddenly the anger from earlier started to crumble away like sand in an hourglass, running down bit by bit till it all disappeared.

When Therion finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost unsure even. “I underestimated you. I didn’t think you were capable of saying something like that.”

Alfyn blinked. “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

Therion shrugged. “Take it however you want. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t affected, but I don’t hold it against you now.”

It was the closest to forgiveness that he could admit out loud.

Then he was quiet and Alfyn was scowling, looking more than a bit confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means, medicine man.”

“Come on Therion, you know how hard it is with you. Just tell me if you’re okay now, or if I’ve gotta do somethin’ else to earn your forgiveness.”

Therion sighed. “You don’t have to do anything else; you already have it.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it and Therion was quick to mask the distinct flush on his face with his hair, ducking to hide his face from view.

“Oh.” Alfyn paused then sighed in relief, melting into the bench. “Thank the gods. I thought that we’d have to split up after this.”

“Split up?” The words caught Therion’s attention and he turned back to Alfyn.

“Yeah,” Alfyn said. “Split up. Go our separate ways. You to Noblecourt and me – somewhere else. I thought you’d never want to see my face again.”

Therion frowned. “Why would you be so concerned about that?”

“Shucks, I mean -” Alfyn stopped and actually blushed. It could have just been the fever but the way Alfyn quickly looked away in embarrassment told Therion that it could be something else. “I – I don’t wanna split up with you yet. I like traveling with you, is all. More importantly, why were you so worried about me back then anyway?” Alfyn was quick to follow up, though he still wouldn’t look straight at Therion.

Therion hummed. “Why indeed?”

Alfyn chuckled. “I mean I know I was bein’ a dumb idiot, but lookin’ after me like that and insistin’ that I take care of myself didn’t really strike me as somethin’ you’d do.” He paused and smiled to himself. “Or maybe it always has been somethin’ ‘bout you and I just never noticed till then.”

Therion scoffed. “Believe what you will. I was only thinking about my own convenience.”

Alfyn shot him a sly grin. “Nah, I don’t think that’s it. I think that deep beneath that spiny exterior, you’re actually pretty soft youtself, Therion.”

Therion’s eye twitched in irritation. “Would you have rather I left you alone to get worse? Because I can do that next time.”

Alfyn laughed, though he did look a bit nervous. “Please don’t.”

They were silent for a long moment before Alfyn added in a soft voice, “You’re pretty kind, you know. You may not know it and you act like you’re not, but I’ve seen it. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for your kindness.”

Therion was silent. Alfyn wasn’t lying. Or rather, it was more accurate to say that Alfyn believed his words to be the truth. But it couldn’t be. Therion wasn’t kind. It would be like calling every thief in all of Orsterra kind and that wasn’t true. A bitter taste was forming on Therion’s tongue, unbidden memories of nights in dark alleyways and the sound of running feet on cobblestone surging back to the forefront of his mind, but just like he did everything else, he swallowed them all down till the dormant sting disappeared.

“We should be getting back,” Therion said, getting to his feet. “H’aanit could wake up to scold us any moment.”

Alfyn looked hesitant to leave but nodded, wrapping Therion’s shawl tighter around himself as he stood. He stopped, swayed on the spot a bit and tried to take a step only to stumble forward. Therion forgot his ankle for a moment, forgot his broken ribs, and lurched forward, catching hold of Alfyn and helping him back upright.

When they both looked up, their faces were closer than they had anticipated, a mere breath away from each other. There was a deeper flush on Alfyn’s face and his lips parted as he stared long and hard at Therion. Before Therion could allow himself to spend more time staring the light dusting of freckles over Alfyn’s face, he turned away from him and started to walk away.

But a hand that burned like fire grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

He whipped around, an irritated “What?” already ready on his tongue, only to freeze in place. Alfyn’s hand was wrapped tightly around Therion’s forearm, just below his wrist, where the fool’s bangle gleamed even in the meager light. He stared down at it before he looked up at Therion. Unreadable again.

And he, careless once more.

“H’aanit told you what it means.” Therion didn’t say it like a question but like a fact.

Alfyn nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said into the quiet air.

Therion wanted to smack him with the obvious, tell him all about what it meant to be a master thief with a fool’s bangle on his wrist, tell him all about the stain on his pride and the burden he had to carry. Or better yet, just let him connect the dots himself. But instead, Therion placed his hand over Alfyn’s and used it to push Alfyn’s hand off.

He faced Alfyn squarely and smiled, wry and sardonic. “Tell me honestly. Would it have made a difference if I had told you from the start?”

They stared at each other, neither saying a word, before Alfyn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done if I knew from the start that you were a thief. But it’s my job to help anyone in need. And whether or not you’re a thief, I know I’d still be there for you if you needed my help. And no matter what you do to get your money, you’re still the kind Therion I know. Right?”

 _No_ , Therion wanted to say. _You’re wrong. You don’t know Therion the thief at all._

“If stealing is kindness, then I must be the nicest person in Orsterra,” Therion said instead, tone bitter.

The expression on Alfyn’s face was conflicted, caught between a protest and an admission. Therion could almost hear the thoughts at war in his head, reasons fighting for dominance over each other.

Alfyn swallowed before he said, a waver in his words, “That doesn’t change what I think of you.”

Therion gave a scornful laugh. “So trusting. _Too_ trusting. But not surprising. A word of advice, Alfyn. Not every thief in Orsterra is like me. They’re not _kind_ and they’re definitely not merciful. So, you better watch yourself. Before you get hurt.”

Whatever fight had been going on in Alfyn’s head suddenly seemed to resolve itself and disappear as Alfyn stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.

Therion scowled, “Well? If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Oh, sorry,” Alfyn laughed, looking sheepish but unable to keep the grin from his face. “It’s just, well, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.”

It was Therion’s turn to blush, though even he didn’t know why that embarrassed him as much as it did.

“Idiot,” he muttered and turned on his heel, heading back to H’aanit’s house. Behind him, Alfyn chuckled as he followed close behind. “So I’ve been called.”

The two didn’t speak another word as they filed into the house and got into their respective beds, Linde curling up on the floor beside H’aanit’s still sleeping form. Before long, Therion heard Alfyn start to snore and realized that he was still wearing his shawl, wrapping it around himself like a second blanket. Therion watched his sleeping form in the dark for what felt like hours, noticed the drool that dripped from his open mouth, and he thought about everything that he had gotten used to about Alfyn Greengrass.

The snoring was by no means a new development, but it was proving to be difficult to get used to even after days on the road with it. Somewhere in the dark, H’aanit groaned softly and turned over, probably disturbed by the snoring. Which definitely told Therion that she had been awake when he and Alfyn had stepped out of the house.

But despite the question of why she had bothered to feign sleep in the first place, Therion could only hear Alfyn’s words play over and over in his head.

_“I like traveling with you, is all.”_

Had that been a lie?

Even as Therion was picking apart everything from his tone to his word choice, from the way he couldn’t meet Therion’s eyes then to the way his cheeks had flushed, his senses weren’t picking up a lie anywhere. No pretense. No hesitation.

Therion closed his eyes.

_“You’re still the kind Therion I know. Right?”_

It couldn’t be any further from the truth. He didn’t know him. If he did, he wouldn’t be saying that. Therion was sure of it. (And yet, why was a part of him disappointed?)

_“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.”_

Had that been the only part of Therion’s words that had stuck? And yet, there hadn’t been a lie in the happy grin he wore then either. It had been – well, Therion wasn’t about to admit it aloud and he was disgusted at himself for even thinking so, but it had been nice to see Alfyn happy like that. A part of him could even admit that he had looked handsome then.

Immediately after thinking so, Therion felt disgusted at himself for admitting it. Now he was never going to call him by his name ever again.

Still, it seemed that even with all of the things that he had gotten used to about Alfyn Greengrass, the honesty and earnestness with which he confronted Therion with still blindsided him.

 _Like opening a window and being hit by direct sunlight_ , Therion found himself thinking as waves of sleep finally found him and pulled him under its dreamless currents.

****

H’aanit had a knowing look in her eyes as she replaced the bandages around Therion’s ankle the next day, which told him that she had indeed been awake the entire time but had stayed quiet on purpose. What exactly her reason was for doing so was lost on him. But she did a good job of pretending to be oblivious to the nameless situation going on between him and Alfyn.

That same day, Therion started keeping another list and started paying closer attention to the huntress and her habits. Soon, just as he had done with Alfyn before, he had a good grasp of H’aanit’s daily patterns.

H’aanit liked to wake up before dawn to go hunting with Linde. The inside of the house would still be dark, the sky outside just turning a lighter shade of deep blue and Alfyn still snoring peacefully away in his cot, when H’aanit would rise and roll up her sleeping pack. She’d get dressed in the dark, (Not like Therion ever stared. He was too scared to sneak a glance even if he wanted to. Besides, Linde always made sure to stand in the way of a clear view and he had his suspicions that the snow leopard could tell if he was awake or not,) then she would take her bow and arrows and leave the house. The sun would rise before she and Linde would be back with a pair of rabbits or a pheasant to cook for their breakfast and perhaps their lunch if there was still more of it left later.

H’aanit hated wasting food, a fact that she made known when Alfyn, who still didn’t have much of an appetite, returned his plate half full after lunch one day. H’aanit proceeded to lecture him about respecting the life that had given itself up to feed him and how much he was wasting its sacrifice when he chose not to eat it. (“Thinken of the rabbit and the family it has left behind. Thinken of its sacrifice and how it has chosen to feeden thee instead of its family.”)

This of course drove the tender-hearted Alfyn to near tears just hearing it and it did prove effective, convincing him to finish his meal despite his clear discomfort. (“But that poor rabbit, Therion! That poor rabbit family!”)

After every meal, H’aanit’s plate would always be wiped clean. She never let anything she hunt go to waste either, always using up every last bit of it till there was nothing left. She’d skin the animal for its fur or pluck all the feathers off a bird, all to be used or otherwise sold or given away to those who might need them later. She’d cook up as much of the meat and organs as she could, preserving the leftovers with salt and storing the fat for oil, and if anything else remained, she’d go out and bury it in the woods. (“’Tis only right to returnen what cometh from the earth back to its soil.”)

H’aanit’s speech was still jarring to hear but after two days of hearing it, Therion didn’t find it as annoying anymore. In fact, he was starting to pick up on its patterns and its words. He had no doubt that given a couple more weeks, he could even learn to master it on his own. But nobody outside of S’warkii seemed to speak it so the practicality of learning it wasn’t appealing.

H’aanit never went anywhere without Linde. Whether it was by her choice or because the leopard just wouldn’t leave her alone, Linde was a constant presence at H’aanit’s side. And because of that, she was a second set of eyes to be wary about. Though H’aanit kept insisting that Linde was only ever curious, Therion couldn’t help but think that there was a reason more than just a passing curiosity that had Linde’s keen eyes following him wherever he went. A trace of her master’s slyness could be found in her gaze and Therion had no doubt that whatever Linde knew, H’aanit knew, and vice versa.

H’aanit was a harder read than Alfyn. If Alfyn was an open book, H’aanit was one written entirely in a language foreign to Therion. He knew that the information was all there for him to take. He just had to decipher it.

But oh, H’aanit was clever. Much cleverer than Therion had initially given her credit for. She knew where to place her paragraphs, where to put the right words to lead Therion in circles searching for the meaning behind them, so that just when Therion thought he had her figured out, there’d be another paragraph right after, pointing out his mistakes and never making her true intentions clear.

Where Alfyn’s words meant exactly what they meant, H’aanit’s words were full of double meanings. She had a sharp gaze and a sharper tongue. One day, a resident of S’warkii that had come to visit had asked what Therion did for a living. “He is quite skilled with his hands,” H’aanit had answered before Therion could. “Thou wouldst hardly believen how nimble he is. I often fearen with how quick he is that he might by accident chop all his fingers off.” The truth was lost on the question asker, who hadn’t been that interested in the answer in the first place, but both the meaning and the warning behind it nevertheless struck Therion right where H’aanit had wanted it to.

Just as much as Therion didn’t trust her, H’aanit didn’t trust Therion. It was a silent mutual agreement between them that had sealed itself right after their first conversation. It was clear in the way she made Linde tail Therion whenever he needed to go outside, and how she kept the whereabouts of Therion’s sword and dagger a secret from him for so long. H’aanit was always watching Therion, mindful of where he kept his hands, always a silent warning and a clear disapproval in her eyes, while Therion was always ever at his list, taking note of every repeated action, every pattern in her behavior and also every break from it.

But for some reason, Therion was having a much easier time dealing with H’aanit than he was with Alfyn. Therion recognized the doubt and skepticism in H’aanit, knew that look all too well when it had stared back at him from gaunt faces in the lower levels of Bolderfall, and even before then, from the hostile looks of passers-by and complete strangers.

More than mere recognition, he understood it.

He knew the reason behind it and it made sense.

What didn’t make sense to him was the blind faith that he found in Alfyn where suspicion would have made more sense. Even with the knowledge of the fool’s bangle on Therion’s wrist, Alfyn still looked at him and spoke to him without malice, without revulsion. As if Therion was nothing more than his traveling companion and wasn’t some dirty criminal with a less than noble reputation.

He trusted Therion enough to still want to travel with him, to give the right answer when he was too tired to tell H’aanit which medicine to give, to keep him company when H’aanit left them alone. Now that Alfyn knew, Therion expected the other shoe to drop anytime soon. The opportunity to get him while he’s injured and unable to defend himself was too good. Gods know that’s what Therion would have done in his place.

But as he waited and waited for the strike, for the inevitable knife at his back, it never came.

Before he knew it, days had passed and neither H’aanit nor Alfyn ever made a move.

A week after the incident with the Ghisarma, Alfyn was finally well enough to get out of bed and help H’aanit around the house. Though H’aanit kept insisting that he was still recovering and warning him not to wear himself out too much, Alfyn just as insistently claimed that he had stayed in bed for too long and just couldn’t stand idle while H’aanit continued to do all the work for them.

So Alfyn spent his days doing menial tasks about the house, like chopping the firewood, drawing water from the well, doing the dishes, and feeding Linde and Hägen at mealtimes. Most of the time however, he was saddled with looking after Therion. Apart from the usual first aid that still needed to be done to his ribs and his ankle, a task that was already mundane to both Therion and Alfyn, there really was nothing else Alfyn needed to do but make sure Therion stayed in bed. And that in itself wasn’t a challenge, given that Therion had nowhere to go or anything to do either.

And so, Therion had to put up with Alfyn’s incessant chatter for weeks. They weren’t all that bad though, at least not as much as it had been at the start. Most of the time, Therion could tune it out and just drop off to sleep. Other times, Alfyn liked to use the time to work on his concoctions, finding something worthwhile to do with his hands.

He would sit by Therion’s bedside and would get to work grinding up plant matter with his mortar and pestle, mixing one or two substances together to get a third, sometimes even muttering a formula or a list of ingredients to himself. Therion had never really been interested in it before but now that he was left with nothing better to do, he found himself watching Alfyn as he worked, following the movements of his hands with an idle sort of fascination.

They were always so gentle, those hands. Though they looked and felt rough, they would hold each plant by its stem, each flower petal and each stray leaf, so delicately, as if sending them off with tenderness before they were beaten to a pulp. Even then, there was a kind of compassion in the way Alfyn would tip the resulting liquid into a bottle, and in the way he would later tip out those same contents onto his hand or to give to a patient. There was a kind of reverence, a kind of respect there.

It reminded Therion of the way H’aanit prayed for a dead animal’s spirit after she had killed it and before she ate, of the way she buried what remained of the animal in the earth. In his own way, Alfyn was giving thanks to the life that was lost for the life that would be saved.

Once or twice, Alfyn caught Therion staring and would stop whatever he was doing just to see if Therion would react to the sudden change. The first time caught Therion off guard and had Alfyn laughing triumphantly much to Therion’s embarrassment. But as it continued, Therion would simply look away and wait until Alfyn got back to work before he would go back to watching him. He didn’t mean for it to become a habit. But as the weeks went on with nothing better to do, Therion’s eyes would naturally look towards the chair at his bedside even when Alfyn wasn’t there, and he would realize just how much he had come to like it.

Not just watching the apothecary work, but even his presence. Loathe as he was to admit it, there was something comforting about having Alfyn close by, even when he was talking Therion’s ear off about something the thief couldn’t care less about. It felt strange to Therion, foreign even, to be feeling this safe around someone he hadn’t known for very long. One part of him suspected that the fight with the Ghisarma had messed up his brain a little, but another part, the one he had dubbed the more rational one, told him that this was only a ploy. 

He thought back to the sound of Alfyn’s laughter, the glint of his teeth when he smiled. _Soon, but not yet_.

But whatever trick Alfyn was playing on him, whatever the false sense of security he had lulled Therion into was preluding to, it never came.

While Alfyn’s care did hasten the recovery period somewhat (according to Alfyn himself at least,) it still took at least four weeks for both Therion’s ankle and ribs to heal. By then, a full month had passed since the encounter with the Ghisarma.

And still nothing.

Now that he was well enough to leave his bed and walk around, Therion expected a last-ditch attempt to happen. H’aanit still hadn’t given him back his weapons, and though he had recovered, he wasn’t quite there yet. If there ever was a time to get rid of him, the time would be now.

But it never came.

One night, after all the dinner was eaten and the dishes were done, H’aanit sat drinking tea at the dining table and asked them where they would be going after they leave S’warkii. Therion could tell that it wasn’t just a passing question. Something heavy lay in her green eyes, something serious.

“Therion’s headed to Noblecourt,” Alfyn said from his perch on his bed, taking stock of his supply. “And well, I thought it would be nice to see the Coastlands. I’ve never seen the ocean before. Goldshore sounds like a good place to check out.”

“Hmph,” H’aanit said, taking a long sip from her cup. Her silence spoke louder than her words did and even Alfyn was beginning to look a bit unsure.

Finally, H’aanit looked up and nodded. “Then I shall goen with thee,” she said to both Alfyn and Therion. “When wouldst thou liken to leave?”

“Hang on.” Therion was the first to speak up, frowning as he sat up from where he had been reclining on his bed. “Why?” He didn’t bother hiding the hostility in his voice and H’aanit no doubt caught it.

“I must make haste for Stoneguard,” H’aanit replied. “’Tis the last known whereabouts of my master and where Hägen has comen from. If I have thy permission, I wilt accompany thee to Noblecourt and then proceed to Stoneguard on thy way to Goldshore. I believen my skill could be useful to thee on thy journey, and ‘tis always best to travel in groups, is it not?”

“Of course you can come, H’aanit!” Alfyn said before Therion could open his mouth. “We’d love to have you around.”

“My thanks to thee, Alfyn,” H’aanit said with a bow of her head. Then she turned to Therion, returning his cold gaze with only a benign smile. “And what dost our friend Therion think?”

Friends. Was that what they were?

All eyes were on him and Therion swore H’aanit’s gaze could burn holes right through his skull. Finally, he sighed and shrugged. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

H’aanit smiled and this one felt different somehow. It wasn’t cold, or calculating, or a ruse. It simply was. She bowed her head to Therion. “My thanks to thee as well, Therion.”

It didn’t strike Therion until hours later, lying awake in his bed listening to Alfyn’s snores, that that was the first time H’aanit had ever addressed him by name. And whatever that development meant, Therion could only guess.

The next day, all three of them set about preparing for the journey, agreeing to leave S’warkii at dawn the following day. H’aanit packed a burlap bag with rations of preserved food, a filled waterskin, a few healing items, her hunting dagger, metal arrowheads to fashion new arrows out of and nothing else. (Her sleeping pack would be added later.) Therion didn’t have much to carry. His sword and dagger were still nowhere to be found and the pouch where he used to keep his coins (pilfered or not) was probably gone forever as far as he knew, not even knowing whether he had lost it in the fight with the Ghisarma or had it taken from him by H’aanit.

As for Alfyn, the apothecary took to the woods for the whole day, packing a light lunch with him as he went hunting for a new stock of ingredients and perhaps find a plant he had never seen before. Which left Therion mostly alone with H’aanit and Linde as they went around S’warkii to let everyone know of their journey.

H’aanit claimed that she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off of Therion for a second, though Therion countered by saying that there wasn’t much to steal from her house anyway, earning him a sharp look and an even sharper pinch on the arm. Still, Therion was on his guard as H’aanit led him around the village, saying her goodbyes to the folk there. He kept his hands close to him under his shawl, always wary of the one with the fool’s bangle on it, making sure nobody caught sight of it. Would be foolish of him to get caught now, and right in front of H’aanit too.

Therion could tell just how much the village of S’warkii loved H’aanit and Linde by the way they said their goodbyes to her, often accompanied by warnings of the dangers that lay outside their forests and pleas to take care of herself. Children flocked around Linde to pet her and hug her one last time and more than once, people offered food, usually fruit, bread or preserved meats, for H’aanit to take on her journey all of which she politely declined but still had to accept anyway when the older folk insisted.

When they told H’aanit that they’d miss her, that they’d keep her and her master in their prayers to the gods, Therion saw the way their eyes shone with unshed tears, the way their hands clasped onto H’aanit as they embraced her or clapped her on the shoulder, the way they promised to eagerly wait for her and her master’s return. There was no pretense, no stunt to be found here. These people’s fondness for H’aanit, their love for her, was genuine. Therion could only wonder what it felt like to have somewhere to return to.

Therion tried his best to remain unseen through it all, to step back and blend into the background as best as he could, but there were still some folk who would catch him hovering, who would beckon him to come closer and then press a piece of food into his hand or thank him for agreeing to accompany H’aanit, wishing him luck and safety on his journey.

One old woman in particular took a single look at Therion’s tattered shawl and scarf (still shabby-looking despite his best efforts to mend the tears) and offered him a newer one, lined with thick fur on the outside but the softest wool on the inside, claiming that he would freeze to death in the Frostlands with what he was wearing. Therion tried to give it back, tried to reason that he didn’t need it, but the old woman only scoffed, said that it was old and that she had been meaning to give it away, and then gave him another one to give to Alfyn, saying that it was thanks for the ointment he had made for her aching legs.

H’aanit had a smug smile on her face the entire time and kept it even as they were walking away from the old woman’s house and back to her house.

“What?” Therion snapped when he caught her smiling at him the second time. H’aanit chuckled, “Thou art not used to the attention, I presume.”

Therion snorted. “You presume correctly.” Honestly, what was he going to do with such a heavy cloak? The old woman had claimed that it was a shawl but it really felt more like a cloak or a cape to Therion. Its weight would slow him down for sure. But, he thought as he ran his hands over the soft wool on the inside, they _were_ headed to the Frostlands and he had never been too fond of the cold.

“Dost thou find it strange?” H’aanit asked. “All the gift-giving and the farewells.”

Therion hummed. “Not in particular.” It was only natural after all, if the people of S’warkii had grown to love H’aanit so much and would miss her presence so. It wasn’t strange to him. Only unfamiliar.

“I still don’t see why I had to come,” he pointed out, seeing as H’aanit and Linde were doing fine carrying all the gifts they had gotten by themselves.

“Why indeed?” H’aanit pondered aloud. “I suppose if thou wanteth an answer, I simply wanted thee to see S’warkii with me one last time before we leaven. After all, thou did not have the opportunity to do so whilst thou was bedridden.”

Therion couldn’t help it when he stared at H’aanit, expression halfway between surprise and confusion.

“Art thou so surprised by that?” H’aanit responded with a small chuckle.

Therion shrugged. “I just didn’t think you liked me very much.”

H’aanit raised her brows. “I do not disliken thee. Though thy livelihood is against what my morals dictate, I do not hold it against thee. I can only assume that it is not the way of living thou had chosen for thyself and that thou had no other means to surviven.”

Therion was silent, keeping his eyes on the road as they walked. A strong wind was picking up, the hem of Therion’s shawl fluttering in the breeze. Beside them, the sound of the wind blowing through the branches of the trees was loud as thousands of leaves quivered against each other, nearly drowning out H’aanit’s next words.

“And besides,” H’aanit continued, “Alfyn hath given me his word. He vouched for thee after I had told him of thy circumstance and even before he hath known about thee.”

“So you did tell him.” Therion tried to tone down the accusatory sound of the words but it still didn’t come out as subdued as he had hoped.

To her credit, H’aanit did look genuinely apologetic as she replied, “Forgiven me if I was wary of thee and for telling Alfyn without thy consent. I was simply trying to gauge what kind of person thou art and thine intentions.”

“And what has your investigation yielded?”

H’aanit was quiet for a moment, looking deep in thought. “Thou art indeed a strange one amongst thieves. Thou do appearen to have selfish motives and thou art quite temperamental and sharp-tongued.”

Therion snorted. Just a nicer way of saying that he was grumpy and mean.

“Thou hast an air about thee,” H’aanit continued, “as if thou art keeping others at a distance. One could chance a guess that thou prefers thine own company over that of others. Indeed, it makes one wonder why thou of such an unsociable nature would be traveling with someone as personable as Alfyn.”

Hit the nail right on the head. But she was still getting somewhere, Therion could tell by the look in her eyes. She had a point and she was going to make it.

“But recently, Alfyn has been telling me of thy travels together, when thou hath saved him from a Cliftlands birdian and hath been concerned about him when thou noticed his fever.” H’aanit smiled knowingly. “For someone who claimeth such a solitary and selfish life as thine, thou dost showen much kindness towards thy companions.”

The words sounded too similar to Alfyn’s to dismiss as mere coincidence. But Therion could only scowl up at H’aanit before giving a rather disgruntled “hmph” in response, though the huntress looked pleased all the same.

“Of course,” H’aanit added airily, “if thou wert to give me reason to suspect thee of a recent and perhaps greater crime, I would encourage thee to come forward so as to avoid incurring my ire, but thou need not worry unless thou wert guilty.”

Therion snorted. Just like her to add a warning in there somewhere. He could play at that game too. “Aye,” he replied. “T’would not bode well for me indeed.”

H’aanit turned to look at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “Dost thou intend to provoke me by making a mockery of my speech?”

“Not a mockery,” Therion said despite the taunting look he was giving H’aanit. “I am only showing thee how swiftly I can learn such things when I set my mind to the task.”

H’aanit stared at him before she spluttered and started laughing harder than Therion had ever seen her laugh. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the peals of laughter that were making their way out, but eventually gave up.

Therion glared at her. “Was something I said funny?”

“It simply does not suit thee,” H’aanit said in between laughs. “Thy tongue is not accustomed to the sound of the words just yet. Moreover, it – it sounds strange, to be hearing the speech with thy voice. Forgiven me, it – it simply does not sound like thee.”

Therion rolled his eyes and kept walking, putting distance between him and H’aanit as passers-by were beginning to stop and stare. “Yes yes, I’ll stick with my common speech from now on, now can we please get a move on?”

“Aye,” H’aanit said, wiping tears from her eyes as she jogged to catch up to Therion, Linde at her heels. She exhaled heavily, still grinning. “But I have not had a laugh like that in so long a time! I can hardly remember when last I did.”

Therion watched her from the corner of his eye. She was still having trouble wiping the grin off her face, something that Therion found annoying but not necessarily coming from a place of spite. And Therion thought that maybe he could stand to travel with H’aanit after all. It was getting harder to dislike her as it was.

Alfyn still wasn’t back when they arrived at the house and by then, the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, the last red-orange rays giving way to the pressing darkness. H’aanit sent Therion off to find him while she prepared dinner and made Linde tag along for good measure.

“Wait,” H’aanit said just before Therion was going to close the door behind him. He stopped and turned around, eyebrow raised in query. H’aanit opened the wooden closet and reached inside. She brought out Therion’s sword and dagger, in their sheaths with all of it still intact.

“I had meant to returnen these to thee on the morrow,” H’aanit said, holding them out to Therion. “But after the Ghisarma attack, I expect thou wouldst preferren to be prepared.”

Therion reached out, his hands longing to feel the pommel of his sword and dagger again, but hesitated. “I can give them back after I find Alfyn,” he told H’aanit as he took them and attached them to his belt.

H’aanit blinked, surprised. But then her expression melted into a smile, the same one she had given Therion the night before. “Thy word is enough,” she said before she stepped back and closed the door.

Therion set off for the woods, Linde close at his heels. His hand closed around the hilt of his dagger if only to feel it against his skin after weeks of not having its familiar shape in his hands. A crow squawked from up above and was answered by another a little further away. Therion heard the flapping of their wings as they both took off into the sky, saw the branches where they had been roosting still swaying and shedding leaves after their departure.

There was scarcely a clear-cut path amongst the trees here, not like the road leading to S’warkii. Therion had to watch his step as he navigated through the undergrowth, careful not to trip over a rock or a jutting tree root as he went. Linde seemed completely unbothered by the terrain, moving effortlessly over the uneven ground as if she were floating, overtaking Therion in seconds and moving on ahead.

Therion decided to follow her. She had probably smelled Alfyn somewhere up ahead and he trusted her knowledge of the woods enough to not lead him astray. Sure enough, as Therion followed Linde around a large boulder, he saw Alfyn crouched over a tree stump, inspecting the spotted mushrooms that grew from the rotted bark.

Linde pounced playfully upon the apothecary and Alfyn flinched, looking around wildly before his eyes alighted on Linde and he laughed, reaching out to rub her head and scratch behind her ears. “What’s up, girl? Is it time for dinner yet?”

He looked up and met Therion’s gaze, blinking in surprise as Therion walked towards him.

“Therion,” he said. “You’re here.”

Therion raised a brow. “Would you rather I wasn’t?”

“No,” Alfyn shook his head quickly. “Not that. I just didn’t expect you to come look for me.”

“H’aanit wanted me to come get you,” Therion said in answer.

“Oh.” Alfyn visibly deflated, his shoulders dropping somewhat, but he smiled slyly up at Therion as he said, “And here I was gettin’ all excited ‘cause I thought you came to look for me yourself.”

“Or I can just leave you here in the woods and tell H’aanit that I couldn’t find you. I’m sure she’d believe me.”

Alfyn sighed. “Okay okay, I’m comin’. One sec.” He took out his whittling knife and began scraping some of the mushrooms off the log, cutting them out by the stem and catching them with his open hand. Alfyn held them out to Linde and the snow leopard sniffed at them curiously. “What do you think, Linde? These things poisonous?”

Linde gave a gruff _mrrow_ in response but whatever that meant, Alfyn only chuckled and kept the mushrooms in his satchel before he got to his feet, brushing moss and grass off of his pants.

“Well, lead the way, Therion,” he said with a bright grin, turning to the thief.

But Therion remained where he stood even as Linde slipped past his legs to lead the way back. He squinted at Alfyn as if he was staring at direct sunlight then stepped closer towards him.

“What’s wrong?” Alfyn asked, looking more worried the more Therion kept silent.

Therion would later claim it had been a thoughtless action, nothing more than a sudden impulse, but whatever the case, something had propelled him to it nonetheless, though it might not be the reason Therion liked to hear.

Something about the light blonde stubble on Alfyn’s chin had caught his eye and something had made him take Alfyn’s chin between his fingers and lift it up just slightly. Something had made him lean forward, right into Alfyn’s space, and remain that way for one second, two seconds, three seconds, then four. Therion parted his lips, looking like he was about to say something, but saying nothing at all.

There was clear panic in Alfyn’s eyes, a rising blush on his cheeks reminiscent of his fever, as he looked like he was trying to make sense of what was happening. He opened his mouth but no words came out and when he finally looked like he knew what to say, Therion let go of his chin and stepped back.

“You need a shave,” Therion said, indifferent, as if he hadn’t just done what he had done.

“H-Huh?” Alfyn stuttered out. “Oh!” He recovered quickly, giving a nervous laugh as he covered his chin with a hand. “Ah, you’re right, you’re right! I, uhh, never had the time to do it before, thanks for pointin’ it out before it went outta control, Therion!”

Therion gave a grunt as a response then turned and followed Linde who had stopped when she had noticed them staying still. Behind him, Alfyn’s unsure footsteps followed, the sound of his boots on the dirt the only sound that told Therion he was behind him. The moment his back was turned to Alfyn, as if right on cue, heat erupted all over Therion’s face.

What had just happened?

What did he just _do_?!

 _It’s no big deal_ , he reasoned silently with himself. _You were just telling him something he needed to hear. It was an impulse; an accident. And if he asks, you can just tell him that later_.

But no amount of reasoning could erase the embarrassment Therion felt, or the close up of Alfyn’s face still etched into his mind.

Therion stumbled over a root in the dark, nearly losing his balance before Alfyn’s hand reached out to steady him, grabbing his arm to right him. “You okay?” he asked softly, offering a tentative smile.

“Yeah,” Therion replied, gruff and short, without looking at him. He twisted his arm out of Alfyn’s grasp and kept walking.

They arrived back at H’aanit’s house, stumbling out of the woods just as the sound of crickets became unbearable, sighing in relief at the sight of the house’s light-filled windows and the scent of the stew H’aanit was cooking coming from the chimney top. As soon as they were past the threshold and inside, Alfyn dropping his satchel off at his bed before taking a seat at the table and Therion just collapsing into a chair, no more was said of what had happened as H’aanit doled out their portions and bade them to eat.

Even after dinner, as H’aanit went about making last minute preparations and Alfyn sat taking stock of his supply, they didn’t say a word to each other. Therion was quick to notice the unusual amount of ingredients Alfyn had gathered. There was more than what he usually carried, just piles of leaves and stems, most of which he had gathered from the woods.

“I’m gonna have to chop some of these up and mix ‘em into concoctions to make ‘em all fit,” Alfyn thought aloud, frowning down at the piles of ingredients. He looked up and caught Therion staring but Therion didn’t look away. Alfyn gave him a reassuring smile. “Just makin’ sure this time. Don’t wanna lose half of my supply if we get into another fight now, do we?”

Therion hummed but didn’t offer a reply as he lay down on his bed, putting his hands behind his head.

“How much longer wilst thou needen, Alfyn?” H’aanit asked, bringing the oil lamp and placing it on Alfyn’s bedside.

“Oh you can put the light out, I don’t mind,” Alfyn said. “The moon’s bright tonight. If I stay by the window, I can see just fine.”

H’aanit looked out the window at the full moon outside and shook her head. “T’would hurt thine eyes to work in such conditions. Best to keepen the lamp on. I can sleepeth just fine.” And without another word, she walked over to her sleeping pack and crawled into it, making herself comfortable inside it before Linde draped herself over her lazily and dozed off.

Like so many nights before, Therion stayed staring up at the ceiling as he waited for sleepiness to take him. Nothing could be heard but the sound of crickets outside and the steady _thump thump thump_ of Alfyn’s mortar and pestle as he worked. Quite unintentionally, he claimed, Therion turned his head to stare at Alfyn, watching him grind, then mix, then pour, then repeat. Grind, mix, pour, repeat. Over and over again.

Alfyn was too absorbed in his work to notice Therion staring him and even if he did, he didn’t call him out, didn’t turn to meet his gaze, only kept his focus on his hands and on the yet unfilled bottles in front of him. Therion soon lost count of how many bottles Alfyn had filled and realized that it was because he was beginning to fall asleep. He roused himself with a start, not realizing that he had even dozed off.

Alfyn was still awake and showed no signs of tiring. H’aanit was quiet from where she lay on the floor so there was no way of telling whether she was awake or not. But it was becoming harder and harder for Therion to fight off sleep, despite how strongly a part of him protested against it, how much it screamed at him for being foolish enough to doze off while Alfyn was still awake.

But that voice soon died, replaced by fitful slumber, as Therion closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep in seconds to the sounds of Alfyn’s pestle.

 _Thump thump thump_ , like a heartbeat in his ears.

****

Therion didn’t dream often and when he did, they were usually bad. Or whatever was closest to a bad dream without actually being nightmares. At best, his dreams were uncomfortable and usually left a bitter taste in his mouth when he woke, though there were times when he could hardly recall the reason why.

In his dreams, he’d visit places he’d been to before, or at least, places he could vaguely recall being in before. Familiar street corners, rows of carriages that provided a temporary hiding place, an open window with a fluttering curtain where he might have once been skinny enough to crawl through, a hand leading him down the streets, their footsteps thundering over the cobblestone still wet with rain.

Therion had seen it all before, both awake and in dreams.

But something was different. It was the laugh that ticked him off. It was too…jolly. Too full of mirth and not haughty enough to have belonged to the person Therion had been with in this particular memory. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, enjoying the thrill of the chase for the sake of the chase itself and not because he was getting away with something someone else wanted.

Therion forced his gaze upwards, forced his eyes to focus on the person in front of him, but something was hazy, like he was wearing glasses with fogged up lenses. They ducked into an alleyway, pressing themselves flat against the wall as whoever was chasing them ran right past, the sound of their feet soon disappearing around a corner.

There was that laugh again and when Therion looked up, he saw blonde stubble on a chin, a grin that lit up their entire face, messy blonde hair where he had been expecting orange. The way he said his name then was different, voice filled with childish glee and – something else. Something that made Therion’s insides twist, not unpleasantly.

The barest hint of affection was on Alfyn’s face, an emotion that Therion almost didn’t recognize, as he took Therion’s chin in hand and tilted it upwards just slightly, just enough, and leaned down –-

 _Thump thump thump_ , a heartbeat in the dark.

****

Therion felt like he had only been asleep for minutes when he was shaken awake by H’aanit early the next morning. He opened his eyes blearily and took in the sight of H’aanit hovering above him.

“Cometh, Therion,” she said. “The sun hast nearly risen.”

With a groan, Therion pushed himself upright, wiping the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Alfyn was sitting at the edge of his bed, already putting his boots on. He met Therion’s eyes and smiled. “Mornin’, Therion!”

At the sight of that smile, Therion’s mind caught up to the memory of his dream and he could do nothing but stare at Alfyn, stunned, too shocked to even be embarrassed.

Alarmed, Alfyn stood and drew closer, looking concerned as he reached out towards him. “Therion, are you-?”

Too close. Therion swatted his hand away and jumped to his feet, pushing past him and towards the door and slamming it shut behind him without a word. He passed H’aanit, who stared after him in bewilderment, but he didn’t stop. His feet took him to the edge of the woods where he came to a halt, placing his hands on his knees as he breathed in the cool early morning air, trying to calm the mad beating of his heart.

 _What_ was that dream?

Therion had never dreamt anything like it before.

It had felt all too real and had moved all too fast in a direction Therion hadn’t been expecting, or even wanted.

Or did he?

Therion let out a noise of frustration, hands running through his hair. He felt something bump against his leg and whirled around, only to be met with the wise yellow eyes of Hägen. The wolf stared back at him and growled low in his throat before it turned and walked back to the house. About halfway there, it stopped and turned back to look at Therion.

Therion sighed and followed Hägen back to the house, where the wolf proceeded to sit quietly by the door. Therion placed his hand on the knob, inhaled, exhaled, then turned it, pushing the door open. H’aanit was in the middle of rolling up her sleeping pack when Therion entered. Alfyn was sitting at the dining table, his satchel open in front of him as he double-checked its contents, munching on an apple as he did. He looked up at Therion’s entrance and the thief could feel Alfyn’s eyes following him as he walked over to his bed and picked up his shawl and scarf, draping the shawl over him and then wrapping the scarf around his neck.

“Thou mustn’t forgetten this,” H’aanit said and handed Therion the fur wrap the old woman had given him yesterday, a secret smile on her face. Therion grimaced but took the fur wrap all the same, tucking it under his arm. He picked up his sword and dagger and secured them to his belt before he made his way outside, making a point not to look in Alfyn’s direction.

Once he was out in the fresh air, Therion let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in, watching as it condensed into a cloud right in front of his face. He stood still and closed his eyes, for once just relishing the feeling of the gentle cold against his skin, letting himself get lost in the chirping of the birds coming from the woods. It was then that he heard it, a singular bird call just a cut above the rest, echoing loud and solemn in the chilly air.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder from behind and Alfyn appeared at his side, still looking worried. “Hey bud, you okay?”

“What?” Therion said, distracted, as the bird call came again, sounding closer this time.

“Oh, it’s another mournin’ dove!” Alfyn said, staring up at the trees. “It sounds closer. I think we just might be able to see it this time.”

Therion’s eyes took him in, from the tips of his messy bedhead to the stubble that he had forgotten to shave again, and wondered just what exactly had compelled his subconscious to conjure up a vision of Alfyn instead of – instead of –

“There! Do you see it?” Alfyn grinned excitedly as he pointed up at a branch. “The dove’s right there!”

Therion followed the line of Alfyn’s finger and squinted his eyes up at the tree. Therion heard it call, closer now than it ever was, and suddenly he saw it. A small stout bird with grayish-brown plumage, pinkish around its front and grayer around its wings. It opened its tiny beak and cooed, bobbing its head almost comically as it did so. And then, it was gone, flying off in a flurry of wings and pine needles to Aelfric knows where.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Alfyn grinned at Therion.

“Pretty unremarkable if you ask me,” Therion admitted. And it was true. The dove had looked too plain, too common compared to the image its name evoked in Therion’s head. But its call was still ringing in his ears, clearer than it ever did before, and he realized that he would never be able to forget its sound for the rest of his life.

“Hey, about earlier-“ Alfyn began after a considerable silence.

“It was nothing,” Therion interrupted. “Just a bad dream.”

“Oh?” Alfyn said. “So you’re not mad at me or anythin’?”

“Would you rather I was?”

Alfyn sighed in exasperation. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

They stood and listened to the birdsong a little while longer before Alfyn said, “Sure does get cold ‘round these parts though, huh?”

A question was coming.

“What were you dreamin’ about?”

Therion didn’t reply, only let his gaze linger on the curious expression on Alfyn’s face before they heard H’aanit call for them from behind. “Wouldn’t you like to know that,” he smirked as he walked past Alfyn, making his way to where H’aanit waited with Linde and Hägen sitting at her feet.

“Art thou ready to goen?” H’aanit asked the both of them, her burlap bag slung over her shoulder.

Therion nodded once as Alfyn caught up to him, still looking more than a bit bewildered but not bothering to press Therion for any more details. Once H’aanit was sure that the front door was locked, the windows closed, her axe at her side and her bow and arrows intact, she led the way out of S’warkii with Linde and Hägen on either side of her, Alfyn walking right behind her and Therion taking up the rear.

Alfyn caught up to Therion, falling in place beside him as he rummaged in his satchel. “Here,” he said, pulling out an apple. “You didn’t get to have breakfast before we left.”

“Thanks,” Therion muttered, taking the apple from Alfyn.

“I know how much you like them,” Alfyn added. “Apples, I mean.”

Therion hummed. “How’d you know?” he asked before he took a bite.

Alfyn laughed. “Just sorta got used to seein’ you eatin’ them. Made a lucky guess.”

Therion nodded. The apple was crisp and juicy, if a bit tart around the center. Alfyn had picked well. The fact that he had bitten into it without first checking for any poison, any hidden blade, flew over Therion’s head for the moment and wouldn’t come back till he lay in his sleeping pack later that night, when his thoughts would naturally wander to these kinds of things when they had nothing better to do.

But for now, Therion enjoyed his apple as they walked through the Woodlands, the sun rising past the trees behind them and casting their shadows on the ground in front. Therion watched Alfyn’s shadow blend into his, and so he was the first to notice when Alfyn stopped and moved towards the roadside.

“Hey,” Therion called out to H’aanit before coming to a stop himself. The huntress stopped walking and turned to look at him questioningly. “Is something the matter?”

Therion only cocked his head to the side where Alfyn had crouched down on the road to look at a cluster of multicolored flowers growing around a rock that had been split into two, its thin minuscule roots growing over the rock and through the crack, the flower heads bobbing happily in the breeze.

“I’ve never seen this kinda flower before!” Alfyn marveled. “I never knew flowers could grow ‘round rocks like this! Hey, d’you guys think I could take the rock with the flowers on it and it’d still grow?”

H’aanit walked up to Therion, still frowning in confusion. “Dost this often happen?” she asked him.

Therion let out a breath of rare laughter. “You learn to get used to it.”

Somewhere overhead, the call of another mourning dove rang clear, sounding low then high then back to low. And then it was gone as the morning light washed over them and as Alfyn stood, the rock carefully balanced on top of his open palms. He ran over to where Therion and H’aanit stood, showing off his new find like a little kid would do to a parent.

H’aanit looked unimpressed. “’Tis but a common wildflower. The variety that growen around these parts are known to be very resilient.”

“Still,” Alfyn pressed as they continued their trek, H’aanit taking the lead once more. “Do you think the flower’s roots broke the rock apart bit by bit or did it grow after the rock split?” He suddenly stopped himself, as if remembering something, and chuckled, bringing a hand up to his neck.

Therion had long since deduced that that meant he was nervous, or otherwise thinking of something to say.

“Sorry,” Alfyn said, still looking down at the ground. “You must be sick of all my talk by now, Therion.”

Therion raised his brows. “Who told you that?”

Alfyn blinked. “No one, I just assumed-“

“I’m not sick of you yet, medicine man,” Therion replied simply, letting the words out of his mouth before he had time to regret them, watching the way Alfyn’s face filled with relief and something else – always that unnamable something else.

And perhaps what was most surprising was the fact that it was true. Therion felt it in his gut. Even if a lot of things still pissed him off about Alfyn Greengrass, from his chattiness to his bedhead, to his snoring at night that was climbing higher up Therion’s list, the thief found that he truly wasn’t sick of having him around yet. At the very least, he could tolerate him better now. At most, maybe Therion could even admit that he liked his company.

Alfyn slung his arm around Therion’s shoulder and although Therion flinched, a knee-jerk reaction that he couldn’t get rid of just yet, he didn’t reach for his dagger beneath his shawl.

Alfyn drew his face close to Therion, frowning. “What have you done to the real Therion?”

Therion scoffed and tried to brush Alfyn’s arm off of his shoulder, though he wasn’t truly as annoyed as his expression made him out to be. “You’re on thin ice,” he said.

Alfyn threw back his head and laughed, his arm dropping down to his side. Therion didn’t feel steel against the skin of his back, didn’t detect any hidden poison in the smile Alfyn gave him then, nor in the glint in his eyes.

And as Alfyn continued talking about the rock he had found, holding it out to Therion to get a better look at the tiny flowers, Therion leaned in closer than he would have allowed himself in the past and he heard the unmistakable _thump, thump, thump_ of a heartbeat somewhere close by. He wasn’t about to say where, but it was incredibly, unbearably, close.

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT i repeat DO NOT do anything i made the boys do while they were injured. don't be walking around with a sprained ankle or broken ribs, and do not be straining yourselves or sitting out in the cold with a fever when you should be resting in bed. you are not fictional characters with a plot to advance. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES.
> 
> anyways follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kalihimpan) for wips/snippets/general updates on my next works for this series!!


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